


Into the Fire

by AkitsuneLune



Series: Warriors Kingdoms [1]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: A little canon divergent, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Beta Read, But it's not High School, Canon Divergence - Original Series: Book 1: Into the Wild, Canon Rewrite, Everyone's a little gay and also has swords, F/M, Gen, M/M, Magic, No Spottedfire (Get it away), Rewrite of Into the Wild, Sandpaw is an alpha male, Sandstorm POV, Swords, The Prophecy Begins Rewrite, The main appeal is me spelling the names wrong, We're reinventing the wheel fellas, cross-posted from fanfiction.net, what could go wrong?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 98,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkitsuneLune/pseuds/AkitsuneLune
Summary: The four kingdoms of Thundria, Wynnd, Rivier, and Shodawa are facing dangers like nothing they've ever seen. Their salvation might just lie in the boy with hair of flames. Into the Wild, set in a fantasy world with magic and gender confusion. Rated T for Sandpaw's colourful vocabulary. (Book 1 of Warriors Kingdoms: The Prophecy Begins) Updates every time my guilt overwhelms me! Beta-read by aerofice
Relationships: Barley/Ravenpaw (Warriors), Firestar/Sandstorm (Warriors)
Series: Warriors Kingdoms [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617727
Comments: 60
Kudos: 64





	1. Prologue and Allegiances

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!
> 
> My name’s Akitsune Lune, but most people know me as Akila. Welcome to Into the Fire, book 1 of my fantasy AU of The Prophecy Begins that parallels Into the Wild.
> 
> I’ve been working on this for a few years now and I very recently finished the second book in the series (Sea and Smoke, the AU of Fire and Ice). I’m writing this now right before diving in to do some heavy duty editing, because my writing has evolved so much since I started and I want to make sure everything’s up to scratch!
> 
> Before we get into it, I’d like to send the hugest thank you to Aersolace. Icy, you’ve been with me through this whole darn thing and most of the great ideas in this story wouldn’t exist without you. Thank you for being my beta, my best friend, and my sanity. A big thank you to everyone on the TorrentClan forum as well—you’ve all been enormously patient when I needed to rant and so very supportive. I love you all!
> 
> Without further ado, let’s get into it, shall we?

**Allegiances:**

****

** Kingdom of Thundria **

Queen Bluelianna Star—tall woman with long, gray-blue hair and blue eyes (Bluestar)

Captain of the Guard: Redde Tayle—lanky man with white and black streaked hair, a red braid going down his back, and brown eyes (Redtail)

Court Healer: Spottalia Lief—small, young woman with white, black, and brown hair and amber-brown eyes (Spottedleaf)

Knights:

Liyon Hartef—tall, muscled man with long, thick blonde hair and brown eyes (Lionheart)

Tigre Cawle—enormous man with short-cropped brown hair, amber eyes, and broad shoulders (Tigerclaw)

Whit Strommer—tall, white-haired man with strange hazel eyes (Whitestorm)

Darriek Styrp—slick man with gray and black streaked hair and dark eyes (Darkstripe)

Liang Teyl—thin, young man with long blonde hair with streaks of black and blue eyes (Longtail)

Rynnin Wynnd—short, wiry man with sandy brown hair and blue eyes (Runningwind)

Willowamina Peilte—graceful, ash-blonde haired woman with long limbs (Willowpelt)

Mauzian Fyrra—wiry, spry woman with short, light brown hair (Mousefur)

Ladies of the Court: (Pregnant or raising children)

Frostialla Fuor—tall, beautiful, long white-haired woman with bright blue eyes (Frostfur)

Brindellia Faise—pretty, chubby woman with creamy brown-blonde hair and green eyes (Brindleface)

Goldanna Flourer—gorgeous golden-blonde haired woman with light blue eyes (Goldenflower)

Speikellan Tiall—short woman with oddly specked long hair that she keeps in a long braid, stern hazel eyes (Speckletail)

Squires: (in-training to be knights)

Duss—short boy with dark brown hair and amber-brown eyes (Dustpaw)

Graie—short, chubby boy with fluffy gray hair and yellowish-hazel eyes (Graypaw)

Ravne—tall, skinny boy with messy black hair and one white stripe and big blue eyes (Ravenpaw)

Fiyr—short, skinny ginger-haired boy with bright green eyes (Firepaw)

Samn—lanky, strawberry blonde-haired boy with greenish-gray eyes (Sandpaw)

Elders:

Heff Tyle—tall, broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair and one missing arm (Halftail)

Samal Eyre—wizened old man with gray hair (Smallear)

Wonn Eie—short, wise woman with graying hair and an eye-patch (One-eye)

Dapplianne Tayel—once-beautiful tall woman with long, shiny dark brown hair and golden-blonde highlights (Dappletail)

** Kingdom of Wynnd **

King Tahliorius Star—tall man with long, black and white hair (Tallstar)

Captain of the Guard: Daede Futt—wiry, tall man with black hair and a twisted foot (Deadfoot)

** Kingdom of Rivier **

King Crukkedaro Star—tall, broad-shouldered man with short brown hair (Crookedstar)

Captain of the Guard: Oeak Hahrte—tall, broad-shouldered man with long brown hair (Oakheart)

** Kingdom of Shodawa **

King Braukkiniaum Star—broad-shouldered, battle-scarred man with close-shaven brown hair (Brokenstar)

Captain of the Guard: Blayke Fouhte—short, broad-shouldered man that always wears black boots and gloves to hide hideous burn scars from when he was a child (Blackfoot)

Court Healer: Raninn Naos—grizzled, slight man with patchy gray and white hair and cloudy brown eyes. (Runningnose)

Knights:

Stoumpei Toile—short, gray-haired man without a hand (Stumpytail)

Boldair—tall, thin, dark gray haired man (Boulder)

Clehw Fiace—short, brown-haired man (Clawface)

Nait Pault—thin, black-haired man with asthma (Nightpelt)

Ladies of the Court: (pregnant or raising children)

Dawhnnea Clouhd—small, brownish-gold-haired woman (Dawncloud)

Braighttia Fluwr—tall, heavy-set woman with blonde hair (Brightflower)

Squires-

Broewen—small, mousy, brown-haired boy (Brownpaw)

Weayt—tiny gray-haired boy (Wetpaw)

Laitlte—thin, sickly boy with white and gray patched hair (Littlepaw)

Elders:

Aish Faor—thin, haggard old man with graying hair (Ashfur)

Prologue.

Oeak Hahrte is on his back on the cave’s floor, and Tigre is tremendously unsatisfied.

He presses the tip of his blade ever-so-slightly closer to the man’s throat, but the towering, handsome, seemingly-unflappable captain of Rivier’s guard doesn’t squirm. Tigre bites off a growl, reminding himself what this battle is actually for. This is not about the man strewn out in front him like an abandoned toy that a child left on the floor of the nursery.

“Thundria! To me!”

It is about the man who shouts, his hoarse, low voice ringing through the cavern that demured undisturbed until Rivier and Thundria’s latest clash spilled over into its dimly-lit stone grotto. Tigre doesn’t move his blade a hair, knowing that Oeak, who gives him an affable, self-assured smile, will be on him in an instant if he allows his guard to laxen. His eyes, though, shift imperceptibly, flicking up to take stock of his captain’s state. They have been fighting since midnight, since the queen discovered Rivien plans for a night invasion, and he knows not even a man as young and strong as their captain will escape unscathed.

Redde Tayle, lit only by the faint dawn-light that filters through the cracks in the stone roof, stands in the centre of the cavern that lies next to the real prize; the village of the Sun Rocks. Tigre does not know whether the dark red of his uniform is because of the natural colour of his captain’s uniform or if it is stained in blood. He hopes it is the latter; it has been a long fight and he does not have the strength to take on his captain at the man’s full strength.

He looks back at Oeak. The man appears to be smothering another smile. How Tigre wishes he could jab his sword into his jugular and be finished with this charade. Thundria has come up against Rivien knights dozens of times in the past months—why shouldn’t he take action to _end_ things?

But Redde is still calling to them, and with a great effort, Tigre pulls away and lets the other man up.

As expected, Oeak shoots up, _Oakheart_ lying dull and useless beside him, and the copper band around his finger seems to glitter with unseen light as a length of wood appears in the captain’s hand. Tigre is just fast enough to match him, knocking the make-shift staff from his grip. _He should be more subtle with his life-force,_ Tigre thinks, staring him down expressionlessly as Oeak steps back, almost laughing. _Is this a joke to him?_ The other man is older than he is, judging by the faintest speckling of gray where his hair meets his carefully-trimmed stubble. _Fucking Riviens._ Disgust makes him reckless, and he swings again, forcing Oeak to duck away from him.

Then he reins himself in and moves toward his captain, leaving Oeak. Oeak will not attack a retreating enemy. He will, however, give a cheer that the rest of his court takes up, jeering and mocking the retreating knights. Tigre pays attention to how Redde Tayle’s shoulders tighten and wonders if the time is right.

Tigre is a planner, to a fault. He has missed opportunities before, and he does not want to repeat past mistakes. Whether it will make him sloppy tonight or not, he does not know, but he knows he must try this time. _She has just given me a squire. Her rivalry with Sir Cawle is long-buried._ Thinking of the queen’s petty dislike of the man who taught him the most makes his knuckles whiten on _Tigerclaw_ ’s hilt, but he reminds himself, _She will not last forever. Her Blessings ebb, and I will be king._

That is why, after he has commanded his squire to leave with the rest of the Thundrian battle patrol, he catches Redde by the arm.

That is why he hisses, “We cannot let them off this easily. They mock us.”

That is why he feels as though his destiny is finally coming when Redde turns back, meeting Oeak’s scornful eyes, and then turns completely, facing the other captain.

That is why triumph swells in his chest when Redde and Oeak begin a duel long after their courts have disappeared. The cavern is empty, just the metallic _clang_ of their swords bouncing off each other, over and over as they move deeper into it. Tigre listens, anticipation thrumming through him, and flexes his fingers.

_The duel will end. Oeak will disappear onto the sea. And then the real duel will begin._

Each move Sir Cawle has ever taught him circles in his mind, every move he has resisted using in this fight and every single one before it… _Press your blade into his jugular._ Redde will be named for more than just his rust-alchemy, and his blood will soak into the stone floors. Tigre will feed the court a lie, and then he will wear the bloody uniform.

He listens to the swords again, trying to regulate his breathing and take stock of his own injuries. If he does not overpower Redde, then everything is lost. Everything Thissel imparted onto him will have been useless. He will be a failure. _But I am not a failure. I am a planner, and I will win._

Then he hears something unexpected.

A great groaning of earth and stone, like the very cliffs themselves are shifting. A crumbling noise, like sand being poured out onto the floor, and then cracking. He hears a shout. _Is the Starlaxi helping me…?_ he wonders, unable to believe his ears. _A cave-in?_ He is nearly giddy. _I will not have to lie! There will be no chance to fail if a fortuitous boulder crushes his skull._ He will not have the satisfaction of taking what is his, that’s certain, but this could make things easier.

But then he reappears.

Redde Tayle is streaked in blood, sweat, and grime, and breathing heavily. His eyes are wide, wild, and Tigre knows that he will have the satisfaction after all. _Well, no matter. That was the plan._

“Oeak is dead,” Redde cries, his voice too ragged to carry, but Tigre knows what has happened in an instant.

_Good. No witnesses._

He unsheathes _Tigerclaw._

“Put your sword away, man,” Redde gasps, “the fight is lost. We have to tell the queen what happened. Rivier will be furious.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Tigre murmurs, and finds his own mocking smile. “Our fight has only just begun.”

Redde doesn’t understand. Tigre steps toward him, savouring the way the other man takes a half-step back, confusion and uncertainty plain on his face, and knows this will not be much of a fight. Tigre has been conserving his energy, knowing this moment will come, and Redde has been reckless with his own life-force. _Because I am a planner, and I deserve the position more than he does,_ he thinks.

“Tigre, what are you doing…?” Redde asks, finally seeming to understand the danger he’s in.

“Taking what is mine,” he answers softly.

And he pounces.

Redde is quick, competent, and has just realized his death is imminent, so Tigre isn’t entirely surprised when _Tigerclaw_ becomes brittle and sheathed in burnished flakes of rust. Redde does not have much life-force left, though, and Tigre’s own alchemy surges like an ocean beneath his fingers, ready to see him through to the end.

He throws _Tigerclaw_ aside and finds everything he needs within his own body. As his hand lashes out, fingers flaring like the claws of a cat, life-force shoots through his arm, down to his fingernails. He does not need to use it to dull _Redtail_ because Redde doesn’t even have time to get his own sword out before Tigre’s nails fasten themselves at his throat.

Long, knife-sharp, white nails dig into his quick-pumping neck, then rip. He is finally, finally living up to his name, that accursed thing that a man undeserving of the name ‘Father’ forced on him, and he is no longer a man. He is a beast, singularly focused on his prey, and feeling primal glee as blood pumps over his hands.

Redde hits the cave ground hard, flailing all the way. He is not dead, but no healer in the four kingdoms can help him now. He is making a terrible, helpless keening sound. A wounded animal. As he has done so many times before, Tigre bends over his prey, ready to help him to a quick death. He feels his life-force still, too much adrenaline to banish in an instant of battle beneath the surface of his skin, and before he can think it through, he bends over the scarlet meat of his captain’s throat with an open mouth and tears it wide. His sharpness-alchemy turns his canines to fangs, his flat teeth sharpening into points, exacting enough that his prey’s skin is pierced with so little pressure that Tigre is granted a mouthful of blood. It is heady and so salty it makes his tongue curl, but he lets it drip over his chin as he pulls away, rocking back on his heels.

 _The captain is dead. Long live the captain_ , he thinks, and starts to laugh.

…

Spottalia Lief feels a shudder shake her body.

She blinks to herself, uncertain of what brought on the sudden spasm, and casts her eyes back up to the stars. She is up in the northern tower, the part of Thundria’s castle that is the closest to the Starlaxi, because she is desperate for their guidance. It has been years since she has heard anything, the pages of their book of prophecies empty, and she is afraid. Med Vhiskar’s body has been cold in the earth for a long time, during which the entire court has been forced to put their faith in a sixteen-year-old girl.

The old swell of fear presses against her ribs and she regulates it with a deep breath.

_Another battle with Rivier in two days._ More injuries to patch up. She has not lost anyone yet, but she fears it is a matter of time. _Should I tell the queen to broker peace?_ It is at once both her place and not her place; she is the healer, but she is young—uncomfortably, self-consciously, _terrifyingly_ young. Queen Bluelianna Star is more than halfway through her life and seems impossibly controlled. Spottalia doesn’t presume to know better than her, and yet wishes the Starlaxi might move her to tell the queen that they cannot fight again.

She has a terrible, terrible feeling. The queen is too intelligent and occupied to hear out the gut-feeling of a child, though, she knows, and so she keeps it inside. She looks up at the night sky. _I would tell her if you tell me that I must,_ she silently urges the stars. _Please. Please guide me in this. I’m afraid._

She closes her eyes, slipping into the Trace, and feels the Starlaxi’s presence. It is a balm to her fraying nerves, comforting in a way she has never been able to find in the members of the court, and she breathes out. They are particularly close tonight. _Will I hear from them, at long last?_

A greeting is spoken, and not spoken. She feels it reverberate in her chest and ears, and blinks her eyes open to see a woman standing in front of her. For an instant, she thinks it is not a woman at all; her brown hair is too perfectly silken, cascading over one shoulder, her skin far paler than the even brown of Thundrians, and there is some… lingering light behind her, like a second presence.

Spottalia blinks, and the presence is gone, leaving only the woman.

“Lady Lief,” she says.

Spottalia steps back, a little confused. This is not how the Starlaxi normally operates—she has never spoken directly with one of them like this if it wasn’t in a dream. Is she dreaming? She presses her fingernails into her palms to confirm that this is real, and the woman smiles. There is something very familiar and altogether stranger about her.

“Who… who are you?” Spottalia whispers.

“Someone that lived a long time ago,” she says simply. Spottalia is again confused; this woman is not speaking the language of their ancestors. She speaks common, in a lilting, warm voice that is almost accented in a way that Spottalia has never heard.

“Are you from the Starlaxi…?”

“Yes,” she replies, and from the glittering points of light that cling to her white dress like dew, Spottalia believes her. “I’ve been sent to give you a prophecy.”

Spottalia cannot help thinking _Finally_ , and sagging a little bit with relief. _This is all in their plan,_ she reminds herself. _There is a reason they have not spoken until now._ It is so much easier to believe now that they have finally broken their silence.

“ _Solo el fuego salvará nuestro reino_ ,” the woman says, her pronunciation of Old Thundrian words slightly faltering. Then she dips her head. “Have faith in yourself.”

Spottalia stares into the woman’s comforting, familiar eyes, and works to translate the stilted words. _Fire alone can save our kingdom…?_ It is cryptic, but she will welcome any shred of guidance. It is more than she has had for years, and it is enough to make her weep with relief.

“I’ll find out what it means,” she promises the woman, who smiles again and reaches out to her, as if to clasp her hand in her own.

But when Spottalia stretches out her hand to meet it, the woman fades, so fast that there is hardly an instant between the woman being solid and the dark foliage behind her being visible. She is left with her arm outstretched into darkness, tears drying on her cheeks.

_We are saved,_ she thinks. Fear for her older brother and sister, so brave in battle, fear for her niece ( _nephew_ , she reminds herself), and fear for every member of the court loses its grip on her insides, washed away by her renewed faith. _Saved by fire._

“Lady Lief?”  
It is the queen. Spottalia turns, feeling more tears of relief and joy welling in her eyes.

“The Starlaxi has spoken,” she says with feeling. “Fire alone can save our kingdom.”

The queen’s eyes, turned dark, sapphire blue in the moonlight, flash with some unknown thought, but the rest of her face is utterly impassive and she dips her head. “A prophecy.”

“We must seek out fire,” Spottalia tells her, urgency and euphoric reassurance making her bold. “The fire that will save Thundria.”

Queen Bluelianna nods again. “Yes.”

Spottalia senses there is something the queen is not speaking aloud, but in the radiance of the Starlaxi’s message, she feels that it cannot be too terrible for them to bear. _Fire alone can save Thundria,_ she thinks, and thanks the stars.


	2. Chapter 1 - Rossy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone!
> 
> Here’s the rewritten first chapter of Into the Fire. Readers from my tumblr got a sneak preview :). Thank you so so so much to everyone who left me kind comments/kudos/bookmarks. They mean the world! Now let’s get on with this chapter.

Chapter 1 - Rossy

A column of flame erupts from my hands, billowing down the battlefield and scorching all in its path. Horses and their riders scream, trying to escape me, and I howl my battle cry, kicking my own steed into a gallop as I unsheathe my gleaming blade and—

“Rossy!”

My sister’s voice snaps me out of my daydream. I jerk upright, then scramble off the windowsill. It’s dawn, or at least some time close to it; the windowpane to my left is so cloudy and dirty that it’s hard to tell much of anything, but the streaks of grease and dirt are lit by a pinker light than they were when I first climbed up into my favourite place to daydream.

“The bell started ringing five minutes ago! You’re still in your _sleep-clothes!_ ” Princesca’s voice climbs higher as she takes in my unprepared appearance. Her hands-on-her-hips stance changes to a frantic fidget, like half of her wants to run off to perform without me and the other half wants to hang around to lecture me. “Gods, go get dressed right now, or we’ll be tumbling in front of the croissant platter!”

I’m still a little disoriented and hardly have time to apologize before she’s whirling around in a tizzy of blue and purple gauze and dashing down the hall. Her panic’s not totally irrational, though, I realize as I squint at the window again. If she’s not exaggerating, then our divine masters, the gods, will be expecting us in full motley in a minute. For the thousandth time, I wonder why they want to watch acrobats before breakfast. _Do they have guests again?_

Prin would probably smack me if I said it out loud, but I think that the gods need some better hobbies. All they seem to do is eat and party.

Casting one last mournful look at my hiding spot, I take off down the hallway, back toward the common room. I speed past Malcolm, the steward, and cringe as he shouts after me. _I know I’m late!_

I skid to a stop in front of the doorway to the entertainers’ common room and squeeze between Ned and Bea as they practice partner juggling, and then dart into our sleep-chambers. Some of the more fortunate employees are still dozing and I try not to step on too many of them as I wind my way past the cots over to mine. If I wasn’t so late, I might have ducked behind one of the partitions on the other side of the room, but I traded modesty for daydreaming, so instead I yank off my loose white sleep-shirt and replace it with the tighter, patched acrobat uniform. My pants follow, and finally, I set the jester’s hat on my head. My scalp tingles as the holding enchantment takes, and then I race back out of the sleeping room.

By the smells that waft invitingly down the hall, breakfast is almost ready. Normally, I’d have already eaten with Prin and everyone else in the servants’ hall and _maybe_ stolen a pastry, but I also traded a real breakfast for daydreaming. _No regrets,_ I decide, even as my belly grumbles. I run down the hall toward the entrance that will bring me to the manor-proper and can’t help dwelling on that daydream.

Prin’s the one obsessed with all those silly books about dragons and maidens and all that, but the heroism angle is appealing to me. _And also…_ I shove open the doors and dart down the next hallway, taking the same route that I do every morning. _I guess we get it from Mom._ I only have a faint memory of her, and even less of Dad; we were sent off six years ago to learn from the ex-acrobats in this manor so we can replace them. Now, at twelve, I’m supposed to take over and pretend like I don’t remember my mom’s face. _I remember her and Dad’s names. I remember that she loved the same fantasy books as Prin. Enough to practically name her daughter ‘Princess’ anyway. She used to read to us..._

That’s the kind of stuff I’m supposed to remember while lying in my cot and staring at the ceiling, I decide, fighting off the memories. _Just do your job, Rossy._

Too bad my job’s not galloping around on a horse and doing glorious battle with a bunch of knights in shining armour.

Prin’s waiting for me outside the slight-ajar, massive doors that’ll bring us to the gods’ banquet hall. She gives me a scathing look, but I’m not late and I _am_ dressed, so there’s not much she can complain about.

“Are you fire-eating today?” she whispers, keeping an eye on the crack in the door for the sign that the entertainers that go before us are done.

“Yeah.” I set up the stuff by their fireplace last night. _Why would you put a fireplace in the same room that you eat dinner?_ I don’t tell Prin that I’m not planning on doing the normal trick of extinguishing the fire a couple of seconds after it’s even alight. She’d set me on fire herself if she knew I was going to try something so risky, but if I’m right, even that wouldn’t have much of an effect. I think back to yesterday, sticking my hand into the blazing ovens when the head cook wasn’t looking, and staring at my own hand as it was licked by flames that felt as tickly and harmless as feathers.

That was my first clue that fire doesn’t behave properly around me.

My second clue comes after we cartwheel into the hall together. Prin turns a somersault, then twists her way over to the silks that dangle off the roof. It’s pretty cool to watch her, but I’ve seen it enough times that I’m not distracted when she launches herself up, arm-over-arm with the sheer strength of her upper-body.

Instead, I do another cartwheel. _As stupid as the hat-charm is, I guess it’s good for one thing._ The bells jingle as I spin over my hands, but the hat they’re attached to doesn’t immediately plop onto the floor and leave my red hair flopping around.

The gods are creepily silent as always, just watching us with impossibly perfect faces from their place at the long table in front of us.

I toss in a back handspring for fun, then scurry over to the massive fireplace. I hear a _swoosh_ as Prin pulls off some kind of tricky maneuver, and I grab the baton with the oiled cloth. Even if it is stupid that they have a fireplace here, it’s a lot easier than trying to keep a tinderbox in my sleeve while doing backflips.

I drag the baton through the flames, resisting the temptation to shove my whole arm in to see if I really am immune to it. That might give Prin a heart attack though. When I remove it again, the rag is engulfed. _Here goes nothing._ I tilt my head back as usual, drawing in a huge breath, then bring the flame to my lips. Adrenaline pulses through my fist closed around the baton and I keep my hand as steady as I can. I stare into the fire, feeling the warmth on my face. It’s close enough to burn if I’m not careful, but I don’t care. It’s beautiful, flickering orange and yellow and never staying in one spot long enough to form a shape.

Then it explodes.

Well, ‘explodes’ isn’t the right word; it doesn’t blow me backward, but I do stagger a couple steps back as I see the flame swell. It goes from a small torch to— _The daydream!_ —a column of flame that shoots up, brushing the rafters and coming dangerously close to Prin, still wrapped in the silks. She screams, and I yank the baton back, close to my chest.

Like it’s being sucked into my chest, the fire retracts, leaving Prin unscathed, and becomes the same little torch that it was a second ago. I stare at it, breathless. _What in the name of the gods…_

Just when I was getting used to the idea that fire couldn’t burn me, this little torch had to go and do _that_. Great. The gods look faintly impressed, so I take another breath, bring the fire to my face again, a little warily, and do the trick. Something’s buzzing in my chest. When I clamp my mouth around the flame, it extinguishes immediately. _Finally._ I pull the stick out and frown at the gleaming cloth. It looks perfectly normal; no hidden can of oil or anything that might have made it jump up like that. I should be doing more tricks, I know, but I can’t help staring at it for a second longer. _Did_ it _do that? Or was it me…?_

I toss it aside, resolving to inspect it more later, and do some more flips. My mind’s elsewhere, though, and I land a bit funny on one ankle. I limp through the rest of the mercifully short routine, and then snag the baton on my way out, tucking it into my sleeve. Prin is wide-eyed and breathing hard as she follows me into the hallway, and I don’t think it’s just because of our routine. We leave the hall as it’s flooded with other servants, laden with food and jugs, and I can’t help tugging at the strands of red hair that escape my charmed hat. My scalp always feels itchy when it’s on; I don’t know if it’s because of the enchantment or not, but it’s annoying.

“Alright, what in the gods’ name was _that?!_ ” Prin demands, whirling on me the second we’re back in the servants’ halls.

I shrug, feeling the weight of the baton against my forearm. “I don’t know. I was as surprised as you were.”

She gapes, though her silence doesn’t last. I can feel a lecture coming. “I thought I was about to _die_ , Rossy! What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I repeat. “It just… exploded for no reason.”

Prin shakes her head, still shaken. “Well, stick to tumbling until you figure it out. I almost lost my grip on the silks.”  
“I will,” I promise. _If I’m not just immune to fire, if it also does_ that _around me, then maybe I shouldn’t be practicing near other people._

Prin gives me another concerned look, then says, “Have you eaten yet? I saved you some oatmeal but I’m sure it’s cold by now.”

As appealing as cold gruel sounds, I shake my head. “I’m gonna go outside, actually.”

“What? Into the garden?”

“ _Yes_ , into the garden,” I snap back, then sigh. “Sorry, I… I’m just a little freaked out, okay? I’ll be back in time for lunch. No one’ll even know I was gone.”

Prin’s jaw tightens, but she just says, “Okay. Be careful.”

_That’s why I’m going outside,_ I think. I don’t even dare stay in the garden; if someone was around and they saw me, or if I _hurt_ them… I shudder. _Malcolm would have a heart attack._ I wave at Prin and take off down the hall toward the outer room. The smell of peaches makes my stomach grumble again, but I ignore the stacked crates of them and disappear out into the dawn air.

The laundry lines are empty for now, which gives me a clear view toward the towering wall that separates me from the untamed forests beyond. It’s usually the stage that my daydreams take place on. Sometimes, when the sky is clear and I’m sitting on the wall, I feel like I can just make out the spires of an imaginary castle, far above the trees.

“Rossy!”

It’s Hugh. I make sure the baton is still tucked tightly up my sleeve and wave to the other boy. He’s wandering around with his trumpet in one hand, probably looking for a place to practice. So was I, but I can’t do it in front of him.

“Hey, Hugh, what’s new?”

He imitates the rhythm of my accidental rhyme with a few brassy notes, then grins. “Not much! Trying to stay in top form; the gods are having company tonight.”

_When are they not?_ “Cool. I was just going to…” My eyes slide toward the wall. _One place that would be_ really _away from everybody…_

“Going to what?” Hugh follows my gaze, then gives me a scolding look. “Rossy…”

I already know what he’s gonna say. “I’m not going to! I was just…” I trail off, trying to look away from the looming forest. _Wouldn’t that be perfect, though? Unless you listen to Zem’s drunken ramblings, they’re uninhabited anyway. Who cares if a chipmunk sees me messing with fire?_

“Don’t,” Hugh warns.

“Just a little look,” I say, making up my mind, and start off toward the wall.

“It’s too dangerous!”

“It’s a _forest_ , Hugh.” I roll my eyes at him over my shoulder, then eye the wall. _If I take a running start…_

“But Zem says—” he begins.

“Zem’s got whiskey instead of brain-juice,” I interrupt. “Next thing I know, you’ll be joining his rebel cult or whatever it is.”

“It’s not a rebel cult!” Hugh says, but I ignore him and back up, then run at the wall and brace my foot against it, launching myself up high enough that I can throw my hand over the top. “Rossy—”

“I’ll be back in an hour!” I call back, and drop myself over the other side.

The earth is different here… softer. A little springy. The grass grows patchy, blending with clover and moss. The forest stretches in front of me, disappearing up a hill a little ways in front of me, ridiculously innocuous when I think about how Hugh reacted to the mere idea of going into it. _It’s a forest. What did I expect?_

I take a step forward, feeling less nervous. It’s inviting, actually; the sunlight moves through the trees in a really pretty way. Dust motes dance in the shafts of light, and I can hear birdsong. It’s a nice change of pace from the eerie silence of the manor.

_Okay. Time to try this out._

I take a deep breath and hold the baton aloft, then focus on the oiled rag that’s still tightly wound around the tip. Nothing happens. I frown and focus harder, squinting and holding it so tightly that my arm shakes a bit. I point at it with my other hand. Nothing.

“Fire!” I say, very commandingly.

Nope.

 _What happened when it exploded this morning? I was getting nervous about doing the trick. Maybe it only happens when I’m freaking out._ I try to put myself back in the moment. _My heart started beating really fast…_ I close my eyes and remember the way the fire erupted from the torch.

When I open my eyes, the rag has started to smoke.

“Yes!” I exclaim, nearly dropping it. It responds to my jubilation, and almost tentatively, a tongue of flame darts up from the end of it. My concentration suddenly breaks when I hear something.

I’m immediately on high alert again, my head jerking up. _What was that?_ It kind of sounded like a laugh. _Maybe a weird bird…?_ My heart is beating faster again, which is making the torch flame, but I ignore it.

There it is again! It definitely sounds like a laugh; high and tinkly like a bell. I step toward the sound, a little deeper into the forest, and as the trees shift, I see it.

A tall man, much taller than even Malcolm, though not as tall as a god is standing, turned away from me, looking out into the forest. He has more hair than anyone I’ve ever seen, bound in a long, thick red braid brushing his waist. Definitely redder than my own ‘red’ hair, which doesn’t come close to that shade of russet, even in the winter when it darkens.

He laughs again. I falter. _Wait,_ is _he human?_ It doesn’t sound like anyone I’ve ever heard. Then he’s in movement, and all my doubts vanish. He practically glides across the earth, smooth as a cat hunting, and in his wake, autumn leaves flutter gold and red. _What… the…_

I backpedal, suddenly sensing I might be in danger. _Was Hugh not being crazy? Impossible._ I freeze, watching the weird not-man disappear into the trees. _Should I follow him? No! Don’t follow him, that’s a stupid idea._

_Shush-shush._

I hear something in the trees.

_Is he coming back?_

I’m frozen, waiting. I can feel my heart in my throat and my cheeks, and I don’t even chance a look at my torch. I already know it’s going to be flaming brighter.

Then something knocks me over from behind. I shout as I go down, belly-flopping onto the leaves, and my unseen attacker lands on my back.

“Agh! Stop!” I shout, raking my fingers through the earth and trying to drag myself out from underneath the weight pinning me. “Please don’t hurt me!”

_Hugh was right! I’m going to die!_ The leaves under my hands begin to smolder.

“What are you doing here?” It’s a boy’s voice, and I relax a little. _Another kid isn’t going to kill me, right?_

“I just—just wanted to check out the forest!” I answer, still trying to pull myself out from under him. His weight eases suddenly, and I roll over. He’s framed in sunlight, staring down at me, and the most I can tell about him is his clothes are green.

“Well, you had better—” is all he gets out before I tackle him. “Hey!”

This time he’s the one flat on his back as I straddle him. I grab his wrists and roll like I’m doing a side-somersault. He shouts again as we tumble and just like I hoped, starts writhing, completely disoriented.

When we stop, I’ve maneuvered _him_ onto his front, pinning him with a knee on his back.

“Ha!” I say. “What are _you_ doing here?”

He groans. _I didn’t break his wrist or something, did I?_ I’m warmed up and limber from this morning, but he’s obviously not if a little scrap in the leaves his making him whine like that.

“I _live_ here,” he snaps, his voice a little muffled because he’s basically speaking into the ground.

“In the forest?” I ask incredulously.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“I’m asking the questions,” I say, taking in what little I _can_ see of him. He’s a bit shorter than me, definitely heavier, and wearing a bright green shirt over a white long-sleeved shirt. His hair is also gray, ash-gray, which is really weird. _Is it dyed?_ I squint at him. “Why is your hair gray?”

“ _Why is your hair gray?_ ” he imitates. “Why isn’t _yours_?”

I roll my eyes. _Okay._ “If I let you get up, are you going to jump at me again?”

He makes a show of sighing loudly, rustling the leaf-litter in front of his face. “No.”

I’m not sure I trust him, but I’m pretty sure I can fend him off even if he does try to wrestle me again. I shift myself off his back and jump to my feet quickly. He turns over and starts dusting himself off, though he doesn’t seem to notice the big smear of dust on his left cheek. He’s got a round baby face, and looks even less dangerous up close. His eyes are almost as weird as his hair; the lightest brown I’ve ever seen, almost yellow. Eventually he does stand, and just like I thought, he’s pretty short.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” He runs an accusatory stare over me.

I cross my arms and glance over at where the baton got tossed to the ground in our scuffle. “I… I didn’t.”

He stares, then finally seems to notice the hat, the outfit… and erupts into laughter. “Blessed Starlaxi… I just got beat up by a god-toy, didn’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading chapter 1! I hope returning readers think it’s an improvement, haha, and everyone else, I hope you’re interested in continuing! Leave me a comment; they’re the best motivation for continuing to write!
> 
> ~Akila


	3. Chapter 2 - Rossy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!
> 
> Rewritten chapter 2! Thank you again to everyone who commented! Yall the real MVPs. And a special thank you to Ice, goddess among betas.

Chapter 2 - Rossy

“What in the gods’ names is a god-toy?”

The boy in the green shirt continues to laugh, slapping his own stomach with a dirty hand, which draws my attention to his tunic. It’s emblazoned with a three-pronged lightning bolt.

I scowl at him.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps. Tears edge his eyes and I start to wonder if he’s having some kind of convulsive fit. “I’m sorry. I guess you don’t call yourselves that. It means, like, you don’t live in a court. The gods own you.”

Something about his tone makes me defensive. “Nobody _owns_ me, I just work for the gods.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. What’s your name, god-toy?”

I grit my teeth. “Ross.”

“Well, I’m Graie. I was supposed to be named for my life-force but I only demonstrated last week,” he explains. “Luckily, it turns out my life-force matches my name pretty well, so how’s that for a blessing from the Starlaxi? I’m not going to tell you what it is, though. Otherwise you might have a _tactical advantage._ ”

The stream of gibberish provokes a blank stare from me.

“Do you have life-force?” Graie squints. “I forget if god-toys…”

I fold my arms and opt to ignore him. I think he likes saying things I don’t understand. “I was kind of in the middle of something before you came along and attacked me, so if you don’t mind, can you go away?”

“Can _I_ go away?” Graie exclaims. “This is our territory! You’re the trespasser. You should be running back to your gods before I _wallop_ you with _Hurricane._ ” He pats the pommel of whatever’s in the scabbard at his waist. “Sir Hartef taught me how to stab yesterday, so watch out. He also showed me how to get into the Trace, and I’m super advanced already. Regular prodigy, he said.”

I eye him skeptically.

“No, seriously, watch!”

Graie puts his hands together and closes his eyes. I stare. Nothing happens. _Time for me to run while he’s distracted, I think._ Then Graie’s eyes snap open and he gasps.

“Oh sh—dang, you need to go right now,” he hisses, already moving forward to shove me into the bushes behind us. I jump back at his movement, and then backpedal into the bushes.

“What? What’s wrong?” His sudden shift in demeanor makes my heart jump. _Is it that not-human man thing? If he knows how to fight and he’s getting scared…_ Even though I know it’s stupid, my brain’s decided every spooky story Zem’s ever related about the horrors deep in the wild is now true. As Graie shoves me deeper in the bushes, I feel my breaths come more shallowly. That same buzzing feeling is starting up in my chest again.

“We’ve got company,” he whispers, then even more quietly, I think he says something like, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“Who?” I breathe, trying to peer over his shoulder. Which isn’t hard because as I’ve said, he’s about the height of a modest donkey.

I can see two people ride on horseback into the clearing, but it’s hard to make out their outlines through the leaves. They dismount, and a moment later, I hear,

“Graie, come out. We can see you.” The low, rich voice sounds a little exasperated.

Graie swears, hustles out of the bush backwards, then turns on his heel and waves. “Heeeeey, Sir Hartef! And Queen Bluelianna.” I peer at him, watching as he sweeps into a bow. “I’m not having much luck hunting. I…”

He trails off, and I lean further out of the bushes, trying to catch sight of what’s going on. One of the new figures in the clearing turns his head and looks directly at me. I clap my hand over my mouth to muffle my dismayed squeak, and retreat further into the bush. It’s a bit late for that, though.

“God-toy, you might as well come out as well,” the man calls.

Swallowing my dread, I step out into the sunlight and take stock of the two people in the clearing. The big brawny man that I’m assuming is Sir Hartef is clothed in the same style of tunic as Graie, though his is a deep forest green. He’s probably in his thirties or forties, with a thick golden beard framing his handsome, dark face like a lion’s mane. Both he and the woman next to him stand in front of enormous horses; not the shaggy-hooved drafthorses of the gods’ farm workers, but actual destriers, muscled and built for distance and combat.

The second person in the clearing makes me forget myself for a second. She would be remarkably tall if she wasn’t standing next to the towering-Sir Hartef, and her posture is ramrod-straight. I’m left with no doubt that she was the one Graie was bowing to; when she turns to look at me, her eyes are such an arresting blue that I’m tempted to dip into a bow as well. There’s something about her, some kind of force of presence that I can’t put a name to.

What I _can_ put a name to is the bizarre, glimmering symbol in her forehead; it’s a star, iridescent and perfectly even in its lines and proportions. _Jewelry? Paint?_ I stare at it. Curls of smoke-gray hair cradle her austere features.

“You should probably bow,” Graie whispers as I freeze next to him, staring at this odd woman. “That’s the queen of Thundria!”

_The queen of what?_ I bow anyway, and as I come up, I see she’s regarding me with eagle-sharp eyes.

“A young god-toy on our land,” she says. Her voice is surprisingly low, edged with a little more of a rasp than Sir Hartef’s. “Curious. What is your name, boy?”

“I’m Ross.” I find myself wilting under her intense attention. She steps toward me, eyes narrowing with interest. “Um, and… what’s your name?”

“Queen Bluelianna Star,” Sir Hartef answers for her as she stalks a little closer to me.

I shrink more.

She stops about an arm’s length from me, though I can practically feel some kind of regal power-ness radiating off her like a heat wave which makes me want to back up more; she’s just staring me down like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve. Then she cocks her head.

“You have life-force.” Her brow furrows, then when my blank stare makes its encore, she amends, “Magic, rather.”

“Magic?” I echo. _Okay, I knew that sticking your hand in a furnace and not pulling out a charred, melty version of it isn’t exactly… normal… and then there’s whatever happened at breakfast, but…_ “Magic’s not real; not for humans.”

I hear a slide of metal, and a moment later this queen has a sword pointed at me with the kind of loose, deft grip that makes me think she knows how exactly to run me through with it. I yelp and stagger back, then my back hits a tree. The scrape of the bark just makes more panic override my senses.

“Stop! Stop!” I shriek, still futilely throwing my shoulder against the tree like it’s going to be pushed aside if I can just shove hard enough. Maybe if a crazy lady wasn’t pointing a super-sharp sword at me I would’ve thought to just step to the side and then hightail it into the bushes. As it stands, I just scramble to flatten myself against the tree as she keeps the sword level with my chest. “Please!”

_Zem was right! She’s going to kill me!_ I think as she doesn’t move a muscle. Panic thrums through me, the buzzing feeling from earlier coming back with a vengeance.

I hold up my hands, praying for the fire to make a reappearance, and shut my eyes tight as heat roars up in my chest, then shoots out my fingers.

Then from nowhere at all, a freezing blast of air buffets me, stinging my cheeks and handily extinguishing all the heat at my hands and in my chest. I open my mouth to scream when the sword runs me through, eyes still tightly shut even after the gust subsides. I realize a moment later that I’m holding out my shaking hands for nothing. When I open my eyes, the queen’s sword is gone, back in her scabbard.

“What…” I manage.

“You’re a fire elementalist,” the queen announces with no preamble. “It may only come out when you feel that your life is in danger, but there’s life-force in your soul all the same.”

_Magic is real and I have it._ I’m suddenly wishing I took Prin up on her offer of cold gruel, because I’m feeling a bit faint.

“But how can he—” Graie exclaims, and shuts his mouth readily when Sir Hartef holds up a hand.

“You’re an unusual god-toy, Ross,” she says.

“Th-thank you,” I stammer.

“How old are you?”  
“Twelve. Um, Your Highness.” _Is it ‘Your Majesty?’_ I shoot a look at Graie, who looks very interested in our proceedings all of a sudden.

She nods. “Very well. I have an offer to make you.”

My gaze skids from her to Sir Hartef, who looks both surprised and confused. _What… is happening?_

“Listen before you answer,” she begins. “And take as much time as you need. I believe you should join our court.”

I blink at her.

Sir Hartef’s mouth drops open over her shoulder. The queen’s gaze is steady, though.

“You would train as a squire with Graie and others, mentored by a knight of our court,” she continues. “You would be taught to harness your life-force, to fight, to hunt, to ride, and to defend. You would live independently from the gods and be able to choose your own path in your life.”

I open and close my mouth. Things in my brain are not connecting properly. Finally, I breathe, “Why?”

The queen’s eyebrows flicker up. “Why? Because I believe… you are meant to come to Thundria.”

_Meant to?_ I falter. _Like, destiny?_

“Think on it,” she says gently, and retreats to stand beside the agape Sir Hartef. Graie’s similarly bewildered-looking. “This is not a choice to be made lightly. But your elementalism proves you as no ordinary god-toy; do you truly believe it is your fate to tumble until you cannot move?”

I don’t really consider my future very often. There’s nothing to consider, just a few decades of acrobatics stretching out in front of me until I either don’t pull off a trick and break my neck, or retire and start teaching the next employees. _A different option…_ Freedom, an idea so dizzying and unattainable that I’ve never even thought to reach for it, suddenly branches out from that path. _More than indenture._ A more reasonable part of my brain holds up its hand. _But what is she getting out of this? Why would she want me to join her court?_

I peer at Graie. He’s staring right back at me, dumbfounded. _Well, he doesn’t exactly look tortured and tormented._

“I have to think about this,” I finally say, looking back at the queen. _What about Prin? We’re all the family we have left. I can’t just run off and leave her behind, right?_

“Of course.” The queen nods, and without even looking at him says, “Sir Hartef will return tomorrow morning for your answer.”

Sir Hartef straightens a little, frowning, but doesn’t argue.

“I… okay…” I swallow, my mouth feeling suddenly dry. _That’s not much time at all!_ Queen Bluelianna turns and, in a movement so graceful it would make Prin jealous, boosts herself up the side of her massive gray mount and swings a leg over the saddle.

She sends one last long look my way, then nudges the horse’s flank with the heel of her boot and sets a leisurely pace back into the trees.

Sir Hartef also gives me a once-over. From the purse of his lips, I’m getting the impression the queen didn’t run this past him before she gave me this chance. Eventually, he sighs and says, “The queen doesn’t make this offer lightly, young man. Life in Thundria requires just as much blood and sweat as working for the gods, but… you’ll be free. Think on it, and I will return tomorrow.”

I just sort of stare at him and limply return Graie’s parting wave as the two of them mount Sir Hartef’s horse. They disappear into the foliage after the queen, and I listen to the sound of their receding hoofbeats until I’m left with only the birdsong and my own pounding heart.

_What… just happened?_

I look up at the sun shining through the trees and close my eyes, feeling the breeze on my face for another moment, then turn and start walking back toward the wall.

_She called me a fire elementalist. And she was talking about the same life-force thing as Graie; that must be their word for magic._

I breathe out slowly, feeling warmth tingling in my ribcage like soot in a chimney. _They could teach me to use this magic? I would be... free. What would that even mean?_

The wall looms in front of me, its stone dull and gray, a sharp contrast to the bright life of the forest. I look back at it one last time, remembering the strange, red-haired creature I followed, the hiss of the leaves bursting into flames under my chest when Graie tackled me, the gleaming star in the queen’s forehead, the way the sunlight coloured Sir Hartef’s dark brown cheeks golden, and the blue glitter of the queen’s eyes as she said _You’ll be free._ More of a world than the day-to-day monotony of the gods’ manor.

I take a running start and slot my feet between the slats of the stone, then launch myself over it and back onto the gods’ lands.

Where Prin is waiting. Planted on the garden path before me, with her hands on her hips and her eyes blazing.

“Oh… hey,” I say.

I wonder if she has fire elementalism too. She looks about ready to burst into flames.

“Where in the _gods_ ’ names have you been?!” she demands, driving her fingers through her hair like she’s going to pop open her skull and show me how many worried thoughts she’s been having. “I saved you lunch! And nothing! You were over the _wall!_ ”

“I have a lot to tell you.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I find us a place to sit in the garden as she continues her tirade, and try to gather my thoughts. Despite my efforts, it comes spilling out in a half-coherent, tangled story about sticking my hand in an oven, nearly killing her this morning, running off into the forest to practice, getting attacked by some half-wild forest boy, meeting Sir Hartef and the queen—Prin interjects to point out what ridiculous names they have, and I fire back that her own name is hardly standard—and finally, the offer they made me.

“To live with them?” Prin’s eyes round. Her temper with me for disappearing without notice for an hour has simmered down, taken in by the tale. She’s always had a weakness for big, dramatic stories about dragons and knights and damsels and that sort of thing. I guess they had to come from somewhere. _Thundria._

“Yeah,” I finish quietly, voice almost ragged from relating the whole thing.

“Wow.” Her brow furrows. “And what are you going to do?”

I look at her, swallowing hard, and try to gauge her state. She’s a few years older than me but tries to act like she’s decades more mature. It’s always made it harder for me to guess what she’s thinking.

“I don’t know. I can’t just…” I wave my hand uselessly. “Can’t just _leave_.”

“Isn’t that what they’re offering?”

I wish I could run my hands through my hair. Damn hat. “I guess so. But wouldn’t you…”

She tilts her head back, brown plait slithering off her shoulder. The odd streaks of white gleam like rivulets of milk in the sun; I can’t remember if she got it from Mom. “I’d miss you, Rossy, but…”

I sit up straight like I’ve been burned. _I can’t be burned anymore, though, can I?_ It’s hard to remember if I’ve _ever_ been burned. I never hung around the kitchens much. “But what?” A confusing flurry of emotions follow that. Stomach-jolting realization that _leaving_ might be possible, shock that she wouldn’t immediately tell me it’s a terrible idea, maybe a little sadness that wouldn’t be totally broken up if I left forever…

She looks back at the manor and her jaw sets in the same mulish stubbornness that comes out of me sometimes, too. Usually in the morning. “But if you’ve got a better chance, you should take it.”

“You think those people would be better than the gods?” That comes as even more of a shock. She’s usually the first to jab my shoulder for speaking rudely about the gods.

Prin purses her lips and looks me straight in the eye, with the kind of somber expression that makes me feel like I’m about to hear something I might not want to. “Rossy, I wanted to keep it from you. I didn’t… didn’t want to make things worse than they had to be.”

“What are you talking about?”

She puts her hand on my shoulder. “This isn’t a good life, Rossy. Mom wasn’t happy with the gods, either, and I’m… I’m just trying to make the best of it for both of us.”

That same sense I felt before, of not even wanting to consider the future because it would make me upset about the things I can’t have, comes back with the force of a storm.

“I want better for you,” she says quietly.

“But what about you?” My voice finally comes back, incredulous. “If you hate it here too, you shouldn’t have to stay! I’ll tell them to bring you.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t do that, Rossy. There’s… there’s more going on than you understand.”

I hate that; feeling like she’s keeping secrets from me because I’m too young and stupid to get to know what’s going on. “I don’t care! You should come with me.”

“I can’t.”

I slap my palm on the marble bench at my side. It’s not a very satisfying show of defiance. “Then I won’t go at all! Not without you.”

My sister smiles sadly again and moves the hand on my shoulder to wrap her whole arm around me. “I want you to. You’ll be happier there, Rossy. And it’ll make everything easier for me to bear if I know you’re safe.”

My lip trembles, but I press them together and take a deep breath. “But I’ll be able to visit you, won’t I?”

Prin shrugs with one shoulder. “Maybe, if they say it’s okay. Don’t do anything to make them kick you out though, okay? Best behaviour, like performance days, and you’ll be fine.”

And just like that, I’ve agreed to leave my whole world behind.

I tuck myself into my cot alone that night, looking up at the small window where the crescent moon is glowing. _Thundria._ I shape the word with my mouth in the darkness. _Thundria with Graie, Sir Hartef, and Queen Bluelianna._ I huff a little laugh, even though there are tears balancing in my eyelashes. _Silly names. Maybe they’ll give me a silly name too. Like Orange… Orangeo. Prince Orangeo of Thundria._ Another laugh comes out, sounding more like a sniffle.

I roll onto my other side and look out into the dim glow of the hallway, leading deeper into the manor with all its servant hallways and dining halls and libraries and… the women’s quarters, where Prin’s sleeping. _Tomorrow, I’ll go with Sir Hartef, and they can give me a silly name and teach me how to use fire magic or whatever. But one day, I’m coming back for Prin and getting rid of whatever’s standing in her way and we’ll be free together. Whatever it takes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading chapter 2! I really hope you enjoyed it and for any returning readers, found this to be an improvement haha. Leave me a comment! It always means a lot.
> 
> ~Akila


	4. Chapter 3 - Samn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been leaving kudos and bookmarking and that sort of thing! Enjoy the first chapter from Samn's perspective!

Chapter 3 - Samn

“Swords up, ready, fight!” the knight calls, and I snap into action.

Duss launches himself at me the same instant I throw my whole body left, and it leaves him to stumble off balance and land flat on his face in… well, in the dust. We’re scuffling in a wooden pen, the floor beaten into packed sand over the course of many sparring sessions.

The sword in my hand forgotten, I thrust my hand forward, my brow scrunching up in concentration. _This time. This is the time it’ll work._

The ground before me quivers and a thin strand of sand raises itself, coiling like a snake about to strike, but then Sir Strommer’s yell makes me lose focus and the sand-snake crumbles back into nothing.

“Samn! We’re fighting with _swords_!” he snaps, his tone unusually sharp. “Life-force will only get you so far; you need to be able to defend yourself with these weapons!”

I clench my fists in frustration. _It’s not fair! I can use the life-force, so I should practice it! Swords are practically useless; if I ever got into a fight with someone with a gift like Sir Cawle’s or Sir Hartef’s, I’d be burnt toast without life-force!_

Seeing the unyielding expression of my slender, white-haired mentor, I sigh and drop my sword to the ground with a resounding metal clatter.

“Pick it up and try again,” he encourages and Duss stumbles to his feet, slapping the dirt and dust out of his training uniform.

I stifle a snicker at his rumpled appearance. My own strawberry-blonde hair is still well in place, and gleaming in the sunshine.

“Swords up!” Whit Strommer repeats and I fall into the battle stance I’ve been practicing since I was old enough to hold a stick and pretend it was a sword. “Ready, fight!”

This time, it’s me that throws myself forwards first. Duss twists away just like I did, but I’m ready for it, and my sword is in my other hand—cutting out in a wide arc towards his left side.

I stop the momentum just short of his side and tap him lightly with the flat of the blade. He makes a familiar, frustrated sound at my easy victory.

“Good, Samn,” Whit praises and I give Duss a smug smile. “Duss, you have to be thinking ahead. You can’t expect every dodge to be successful; you must _always_ be in movement. _Especially_ if you end up fighting someone like Samn.”

My partner wipes his shining forehead and runs his hand through the tousled brown spiky mess on his head. As he shoots me an irritated look, I shrug nonchalantly. _Not my fault,_ I mouth at him as Sir Strommer continues.

Duss scowls at me. _He’s just sour he lost,_ I think. My sword switches hands again to subtly remind him of my talents. Ambidex, the court calls me. Annoying, Duss says. _Annoying, ‘cause I win all the time,_ I think.

“So, Duss, how could you improve your technique to adapt to Samn’s abilities?” Sir Strommer asks patiently.

“Trip him?” he suggests, eyeing me thoughtfully.

I snort in amusement. “Good job, genius. You just told me your best strategy.”

“Doesn’t mean you can counter it!” he snaps, and he dives forwards with one leg sweeping out in an attempt to execute said strategy.

I spring into the air, tucking my legs up to twist mid-air, so that my boot makes contact against his thin training shirt.

He wheezes as the air is forcibly pushed out of his lungs and he staggers backwards, panting.

I land lightly, like the panther that my mother, Brindellia Faise, summoned once. _Not in battle, of course._ She doesn’t fight, despite having some of the strongest life-force Thundria’s ever seen.

Duss glares at me, and Sir Strommer holds up his hand to stop the match.

“Duss, I thought Sir Tayle would have taught you better than that,” Whit says, frowning.

“He did. I’m just tired,” Duss snaps, looking intensely defensive of his mentor.

_Yeah, there’s no way my father is anything less than the best knight in the world,_ I think, looking challengingly at my own mentor. _He’s the captain of the guard and advisor to the queen! How could he not be?_

“Well, I’ll have a word with him when he returns from the battle with Rivier,” Whit says with an air of finality.

_Duss is probably just being a stubborn mule,_ I think optimistically. _I’m sure my father trained him properly. I can’t wait to hear all about the fight!_

I sheath my sword. The simple steel glitters in the afternoon sun and glances off the little engraving etched into the blade by the hilt. _Bolt._ I run my fingers over the shallow lettering.. I named it for Thundria.

Duss sheathes his as well. I don’t need to see the letters to know that _Storm_ is carefully written on it. I like the name he chose—almost better than my own—and sometimes I wish I’d thought of it first.

We leave the wooden pen and walk across the training outpost, a vast clearing that the Thundrian court has been using for generations to train squires. The buildings host spare training swords, bandages, and training rations— _Not to be eaten without strict permission from the knights!_ Sir Strommer’s voice echoes in my head, drilled into me since I was made a squire—and around them are a few other wooden pens like the one Duss and I were just fighting in for sparring.

I shield my eyes from the sun until we’re back into the cover of the trees. It’s a nice day—that is, it would be if we weren’t supposed to be jumping around and swinging swords at each other all day long. There isn’t a single cloud in the sky to spare us from the heat of the sun.

_Would be nicer if we could have gone over to Cumulus,_ I think grouchily, glancing at Sir Strommer and trying to assess the likelihood of him permitting us to get something to eat there. There’s an orchard not far from here, just on the other side of the village, and the thought of one of their peaches is enough to make me forget how limp with exertion my arms are.

Unfortunately, Sir Strommer’s been short with us and distracted all day. _More likely he’ll bite my head off for_ daring _to wish for a peach,_ I decide, sighing. _I’ll get something from the kitchens when we get back to the castle._

I do have to wonder what exactly is going on with him though. He usually has enough patience to put up with Duss; the only knight in the court that can do it. I don’t exactly blame the others though. Duss does have his moments, but... _They tend to be few and far between._

As we walk back to the castle, my legs begin to ache. I’m grateful I don’t have a heavy true-steel sword to carry around yet. Whit’s is bouncing on his hip and I know it must hurt, even if he puts on a brave front. He didn’t bother taking his horse out today since Duss and I haven’t gotten our mounts yet; supposedly we’re waiting for Ravne and Graie to get their swords so we can all get the full squire equipment at the same time. I think it’s stupid since Duss and I are already ahead of them in training and trying to even it out now is just going to force us to slow down.

_Whitestorm_ is carved into Sir Strommer’s steel. He’s showed us numerous times. _Proud as a peacock,_ I think disdainfully, but envy twinges inside me. _I wonder what my full name’ll be… I hope it’s something cool. Mother’s sword has a silly name. I don’t want it to be_ Sandface _or something._ _Then again… she doesn’t exactly use her sword._

Another drop of guilt falls into my rapidly growing pool. _It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks I am. Girl, guy, dragon, I’m still going to be the best knight Thundria’s ever seen._

“Good fight today, Duss,” I say, unable to refrain from rubbing his multiple defeats in. Picking a fight with him is preferable to meditating on my situation.

“Shove off,” he says, scowling and shoving my draping arm off his shoulder.

I can’t help a girlish giggle that escapes, and I quickly cover it with a macho grunt. Duss gives me an odd look. I smile widely to cover my uneasiness.

“It isn’t very sportsmanlike to gloat, Samn,” Whit says reprimandingly.

“But it sure is fun!” I say with a gleeful grin.

Sir Strommer looks like he’s fighting to keep a chiding look on his face and is restraining a chuckle or two, then suddenly he freezes with a guilty look. “Oops.”

“What?” I question, worried by his sudden change in demeanor.

“Er, Queen Bluelianna wanted me to... do something,” Sir Strommer mutters, looking like a scolded child. He runs a hand through his hair and tugs on it, making the white hairs stand up straight. “I’ve gotta go… you both head back to the castle. Don’t stray off the path; if anything happens to you, the queen’ll chop off my hands…”

I make a face at the gory mental image that brings, and Whit shifts like ants have crawled into his training armor, then gives us a quick nod and turns. He rushes off, his pace quick and his strides long.

“It’s not like him to forget stuff like that,” I comment uneasily. “It must be something pretty important for him to be so worried about it…”

“Who cares?” Duss yawns with characteristic sensitivity and fine-tuned understanding of others.

_Sarcasm, sarcasm,_ I think.

We walk through the forest in companionable silence. “Root.” I break it to warn him and he avoids it. _See_ , _I’m a good friend._ Even on the paths, the forest is tough to navigate. Helps during an invasion, or so the history books say, but it’s less useful when I’m trying to get through the forest without getting a faceful of dirt.

The ladder comes into view through the trees. The trees cluster closer to the path, their branches reaching out across it. I pull back a branch and let go. It smacks Duss across the face. _A great friend,_ I think, stifling another giggle.

“Ouch!” Duss squeals like a slapped mouse.

I snicker to myself and launch into a run. “Race you there!”

“No fair!” he snaps, but his short little legs are already pumping as he tries to gain on my longer, loping strides.

I laugh, feeling carefree suddenly as the cool breeze takes off the strain of my legs. Suddenly, my foot catches on a branch and I fly forwards in a clumsy somersault, my legs groaning their protest.

“Head over heels for me already?” Duss jokes as he whips past. “Don’t fall for me so quickly!”

I growl in frustration and vault to my feet, already in motion once more.

“Eat my dust, _sweetheart_ ,” I retort, past him before he can even say another word.

He laughs out loud, and my stomach dips a little. _He doesn’t know; he was just joking around,_ I remind myself. _Duss would never fall for me like that, regardless of if I really was a boy or not. Which he thinks I am. They all do…_

We reach the castle, and I scale a tree quickly, only showing off a little. _Okay, maybe showing off a_ lot _. But I_ can _do it, so why shouldn’t I?_

The thing is, Thundria’s castle isn’t anything like the outdated sketches we have of Wynnd’s or Shodawa’s. Because yeah, it’s got the turrets and towers and stones and all the other castle things.

It’s just a more than a hundred feet off the ground.

“Show-off!” Duss calls up to me.

I kick the tree and make bark sprinkle down on him.

“Hey!” he snaps.

_Take the ladder, little boy,_ I think with a private grin.

With the castle being situated on top of the canopy of trees, you’d have to either fly or be able to climb trees to reach it. Of course, many years ago, a ladder was installed on a tree to allow little children and young squires to ascend to the castle. Technically, I guess I should be taking the ladder too. There’s also a hidden patch of grass just a bit further into the trees that some long-gone monarch put a lasting Blessing on to allow horses and wagons to move from the forest floor to the tree-tops and vice versa, but it’s a waste of life-force to use it when the ladder is right there.

I can climb better than any squire he’s ever seen, Sir Strommer told me. And practice makes perfect, so why should I use the ladder? I emerge out of the hole in the foliage and haul myself up onto the stones that lay across the topmost leaves. I hurry across the pavilion out front, bypassing where a couple members of the court are sitting on the benches and chatting— _They get to enjoy the sunlight,_ I think with a sigh—and run toward the arching, heavy oak doors. The castle is backlit by the sun and it’s difficult to look straight at it—the stone walls and towers look almost menacingly dark when contrasted so dramatically with the sun, but I feel comfort. And hungry.

Getting the doors open takes some effort, but Duss’s bristly brown hair hasn’t popped up from the hole the ladder makes yet. Hopefully my lead will be enough. I dash into the throne room, Duss hot on my heels.

Suddenly, I stop dead.

Most of the court is assembled in the throne room, the whole stone floor from wall to wall is taken up by knights and squires. The banners with Thundria’s emblem that hang on the walls, lit in the torchlight, are almost completely obscured by the heads of nearly every member of the court. The dais at the far side of the room is also hidden from my view by the crowd.

Not quite hidden enough though, because Queen Bluelianna’s gaze cuts right through the court and immediately pins itself to me and Duss.

If the oak doors of the castle weren’t an entire roomful of people away from the hall into the squires’ wing, I would already be hiding under my bed with my copy of _Lieting Teil’s Ancient Thundrian Texts on Fighting_ and trying to forget I’d ever seen her give me that reproachful look.

My heart jumps in my throat and I sweep into a clumsy bow. Beside me, I catch Duss doing the same.

“Rise, squires Duss and Samn,” she calls, only drawing more attention to our awkward arrival, but there’s a note of worry in her voice that I don’t like. “Come, sit, we were just waiting for the arrival of Sir Hartef and Sir Strommer.”

“He’s not coming, ma’am,” I say before I can help myself. “He’s on a special mission for the queen… er, I suppose you’d know that. Being the queen and all. Shutting up now.” I add another flustered bow.

Queen Bluelianna laughs graciously, but to her left I see Brindellia Faise shooting me a death glare. I give my mother a sheepish smile.

Duss straightens out of his bow and we squeeze into the crowd to cross the throne room quickly. I manage to stumble on the carpet all of three times on my way, and each time Duss steadies me with a touch of his arm. I stand by my mother on the left side of the room, near the dais. _And so close to the kitchens..._

“Don’t embarrass us in front of the queen,” Brindellia murmurs under her breath with a frown directed at me. “Foolish child! After all she’s done for you.”

Duss cocks his head curiously, and this time it’s my turn to shoot my mother a _shut up right now_ look.

Lady Faise inclines her head the tiniest bit, pursing her lips.

I twist my ring nervously, feeling the well-worn sandstone band and running my fingertip across the cloudy yellow seaglass. I can’t wait until it’s an actual gemstone. _Pyrite, ametrine, amber, yellow quartz, yellow jade, aragonite, calcite, yellow agate, citrine._ My brain runs through the well-worn pattern of listing all the yellow gemstones that the Lunar Crystal uses for rings. _Someday I’ll have my knighting ceremony and I’ll kneel in front of the queen. She’ll tap her sceptre on the stone and that mist will come over my hand just like it did for Liang Teyl last week. And I’ll have a proper sword and a proper ring and a room in the knights’ wing and—_

“Samn!” My mother shakes my shoulder vigorously. “Pay attention!”

I look up quickly and catch my breath.

The heavy doors to the castle have been thrown open. It’s Sir Strommer and Sir Hartef, but they’re not alone. Beside them cowers a young boy that I’m sure I’ve never laid eyes on.

The torches that line the walls of the throne room illuminate his delicate, boyish features as he looks with giant, curious green eyes into the throne room. The wind that blows heavily outside the castle ruffles the tufts of ginger hair that stick out from under a weird hat. _What is he?_

“Who’s that?” I mutter to my mother.

“I—I don’t know,” she admits softly.

“Welcome,” Queen Bluelianna greets Sir Strommer and the newcomer imperiously. “I didn’t think you would come.”

 _Then why’s he here? The queen’s always right,_ I think, still staring at the new boy.

“Well, I’m here,” he says quietly. Almost defiance. _Who is he?_

“Thundria!” Queen Bluelianna calls suddenly. “Gather!”

The command is pretty pointless, since we’re almost all gathered already, but still a few extra people filter in from the hallway that leads to the knights’ wing and the elders’ wing. Spottalia Lief comes to stand in the entrance of the healer’s wing.

The new boy watches all. I catch a glimpse of his eyes and blink. When he first came in, I guess I just assumed they were hazel or something, but no… they’re a remarkably bright shade of green. He looks starstruck by the whole ordeal.

“My dear friends,” the queen begins with a flourish of one gloved hand, “in past years, Thundria has suffered from a great lack of young squires. The ones we have, of course, are exceptional.” At that, she sends a warm look at me. I feel like I’m floating, and she continues, “However, I have decided that the best thing to do for the kingdom is to take in an outsider and train him as one of our own.”

Shock races through me. This newcomer is going to be a squire with me? _Whaaaat?_ My head spins. _Where’d the queen find this kid?_

“Where’d he come from?” someone challenges. I recognize the outcry as coming from Liang Teyl, a new knight who can’t keep his mouth shut for more than thirty seconds at a time. I thank the Starlaxi every day that I wasn’t born just a bit earlier and forced to share any training with him.

_But I guess it’s a valid question,_ I think grudgingly, shutting my eyes and tapping into the Trace as Sir Strommer taught me. He says that when I become a full knight, it’ll become a second nature, but right now it’s giving me a headache.

Still, I push forth and I reach the fifth dimension. The familiar feelings of the other members of the court’s life-force flood me, but I pick through them carefully, searching for the newcomer— _ack!_

A dry, tongue-curling feeling washes over me and my nose waters. _God trace... but why does his trace feel like a god’s? He’s human, I thought… oh no._

This newcomer is…

“A god-toy!” Liang shouts with laughter and tosses his head, his long black and white braid that he’s _way_ too proud of swings over his shoulder as he laughs harder until he’s only shaking silently.

Unfortunately, the rest of the court doesn’t seem to be quite so amused. Brindellia’s expression is uncharacteristically disapproving. She purses her lips again and shakes her head slightly. “Blessed Starlaxi, what’s the queen thinking?”

“Silence!” The queen’s blue eyes flash. “Yes, he _was_ a god-toy. But he has chosen to leave his… employers… and join our kingdom.”

_Employers? More like owners,_ I think, snorting. _Everyone and their mother knows that working for the gods isn’t a real life._

“His hat’ll bring the gods down on our kingdom faster than you can say ‘spirit-clipped’!” Liang calls, still fighting another bout of derisive laughter. The queen is staring him down with a cold look, but he pays her no mind, somehow.

I see the new boy curl his hands into fists and I realize he’s wearing a jester’s costume and that strange hat is part of it. _He’s an acrobat?_ I think, eyeing him with new interest. _If we have to let him join, that’ll make fighting him interesting at least._

Liyon Hartef leans down to whisper something into the kid’s ear.

The boy nods, looking determined, and then he’s suddenly sprinting at Liang. The new knight is suddenly thrown over from behind as the ginger-haired god-toy flings himself into Liang.

“Oof!” Sir Teyl puffs, and whips around to face the younger boy, but he’s already twisting around and doing some kind of spin-kick I’ve never seen in my life.

_Wow,_ I think admiringly, watching his twist and kick. He looks less like a squire and more like a cat as he whirls through the air.

“That’s it,” Liang growls, yanking out his new true-steel blade, _Longtail._ I saw it when he was a squire; he had named it Backbiter.

_He’s not going to actually hurt him, is he?_ I wonder, nervous for the new boy. _This carrot guy might have some fancy moves but… Sir Teyl has a sword. Not to mention his life-force; don’t gods do something to get rid of god-toys’ life-force? ‘Spirit-clipping’ or something?_

But I guess my worry was unfounded, because the ginger-haired kid flicks his wrist and two little silver knives that look like they were pilfered from a god’s dinner table slide out. _Are god-toys allowed weapons?_ I can’t help wondering again, _Where’d the queen find this kid?_

Liang grins, taking on a predatory stance. His weapon glints in the torchlight, and he raises it to engage the boy, but this acrobat is already behind him once more. Liang’s ready this time, though, and he twists to grab hold of the boy’s jester cap.

_God-charm,_ I realize, my breath catching in my throat. _It’ll be stuck to his head._

The boy howls in pain, like his scalp is being torn off. _Which, come to think of it, it might be,_ I think sympathetically.

Then I realize the howl isn’t just from pain. _He’s… his life-force!_ Excitement swamps me. _What kind of life-force will he have? How does he have it? Did he not get spirit-clipped?_

The howl gets louder and then it’s Liang’s face twisting in pain. Smoke rises from the hat, then suddenly the jester hat is engulfed in flames. The torches flare brighter than ever, and the ginger god-toy’s body is wrapped in flames.

_Fire elementalist!_ My breath catches in my throat. _Oh man, that’s so cool! It’s not even singeing his clothes! Incredible…_ I watch, breathless.

Liang springs away from the boy, and then suddenly the fire goes out as the boy looks down at himself and his unharmed clothes with utter shock. Liang’s still standing stock-still though, and the god-toy whips around him, the knives still in each hand, and then half of Liang’s precious braid drops to the floor.

The god-toy sliced off Liang’s hair.

I burst into laughter, not caring that the whole hall is practically silent. I can’t help myself. Liang’s precious, beautiful hair, all gone. The more I try to stifle it, the harder I laugh.

I hear chuckles from around me and I know I’m not the only one who finds this terribly funny. Most of the court is just watching in amazement. Nobody expected a god-toy to hold his own against a knight.

Liang stiffens, and turns slowly, the uneven, hacked-off end of his blonde and black-streaked hair swinging behind him. His eyes lock onto the sad, dead braid that is splayed across the stone floor like a corpse.

He looks like he’s about to burst into tears, and I’m fighting another fit of hysteria.

The god-toy’s expression is incredibly smug, and he slides the knives back into his sleeves. I want to clap, but I know better. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but Queen Bluelianna looks smug too. She stands from her seat on the throne and walks to the god-toy. He looks up at her with a reverent expression, and she graces him with a slight smile and an inclination of her head.

“Does any other member of the court wish to challenge our newest squire?” Queen Bluelianna asks, sounding terribly amused. “No? Very well. He has shown himself to possess life-force and is thusly accepted by the Starlaxi and recognized as the newest member of our court.”

The young boy suddenly seems to sober, and knelt in front of Queen Bluelianna. _He already knows what to do,_ I think, impressed.

The queen pulls out her glimmering true-steel blade. Even though I’m too far to see it, I know _Winter’s Wrath_ is carved into it. I love the name she came up with. I heard a rumour that as a squire, she called her practice sword _Icicle_. I suppose her knight-sword must have been _Bluefur_ , which isn’t that awesome, but Icicle’s a good name. _Especially since she’s an ice elementalist. Maybe I should’ve done something about sand…_ I ponder. _But… sand’s not as cool as ice._

I snicker at my own pun and Brindellia gives me a chiding look.

“I call upon the Starlaxi to recognize this young boy. He wishes to learn the way of the knight and one day join your noble rank,” Queen Bluelianna speaks quietly but powerfully, and the hall is quiet enough that her words reach every ear. “His old life is no more. Under the influence of Sir Liyon Hartef and Sir Tigre Cawle, may he learn the way of the knight and grow strong. Today, he displayed courage in fighting valiantly an opponent older and stronger than himself, and unleashed his life-force for the… for the first time. I name you Fiyr, for your remarkable fire life-force.”

The newly named Fiyr blinks and looks at the queen in confusion; it doesn’t look like he realized this would involve getting a new name. I suppose that would be normal for someone who doesn’t know the customs of the court, but I frown at little at the queen’s choice of words. _The first time he ‘unleashed’ his life-force? Like, since he demonstrated?_ I’ve never seen a demonstration, but the way my mother described them, I don’t think that was a demonstration. _But if he’s demonstrated before, why was he so surprised when he controlled the fire?_ Something doesn’t add up, but the queen is already moving forward with the ceremony.

“I call upon the Lunar Crystal to give this boy his life-force ring!” Her call rings through the hall, and she slams her sceptre down to the ground.

Where it connects with the ground, a pearly white mist rises and flies towards Fiyr. His right hand is tugged forwards and wrapped in the mist, then it drops back to his side and the mist dissipates.

The hall is silent.

Then one, young boy’s voice rises. _Graie,_ I think disdainfully. My fellow squire cheers loudly.

“Fiyr! Fiyr!”

Fiyr smiles, and stands to shake Graie’s hand, but Graie tackles him with a bear-hug. I stifle a derisive snort. He has no restraint.

Then the whole throne room erupts into cheers. I add a few greetings of my own to the mix, before falling silent. I edge closer to the pair to catch the words of the newest member of Thundria.

“Good fight!” Graie exclaims childishly. “Spoiled Liang’s good looks, that’s for sure!”

“He put up a good fight,” Fiyr mumbles, ducking his head in embarrassment.

I smile slightly. At least he’s not stuck-up.

“He’s probably heading to Spottalia’s room,” Graie snorts. “Don’t see why he needs to. You cut off his hair, not his head.”  
“Who’s Spottalia?” Fiyr asks, cocking his head.

“Spottalia Lief is Thundria’s healer,” Graie explains, grinning widely. “She’s super nice and really pretty. You’ll like her. Everyone does.”

Suddenly, a taller guy pushes past me. I curl my lip when I see it’s Darriek Styrp, Thundria’s resident slimeball.

“Welcome to Thundria, god-toy,” Darriek says, a greasy smile failing to cover his mocking look. “Enjoy your stay. You won’t be here long. If only we were all so lucky as to somehow beat someone twice our size and intelligence… too bad your luck won’t last.”

Fiyr looks like he’s about to give Darriek more than a haircut, but the older guy smooths back his slicked-back gray and black hair and pushes away through the crowd.

“That’s Darriek Styrp. Now _he_ is neither nice, nor pretty,” Graie mutters under his breath.

Fiyr nods, still scowling as Darriek’s sashaying back. “Also, um, is this my name forever?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t it be?” Graie blinks, confused. Fiyr nods slowly and shrugs.

I’m fighting a giggle at his befuddlement when suddenly one of the elders, Samal Eyre calls,

“Someone’s coming!”

The people crowded around Fiyr scatter, with the exception of Graie. I quickly hurry back with the ebbing flow of the crowd.

One of the oak doors creaks open and a dark figure steps through.

I brace myself, my hand on my wooden sword, ready to defend my home. _What if it’s Braukkiniaum Star and a legion of Shodawes knights?_ Fear curdles my stomach, but I shove it off.

What was coming was much, much worse, though I have no way of knowing it in this moment. A young boy I recognize as one of my fellow squires, Ravne, stumbles through. He’s holding his face with one hand and blood trickles through his fingers.

His long braid of black hair tipped with white has been almost completely severed like Liang’s, although instead of one, clean stroke it appeared to have been hacked at multiple, random points in time.

“P—p—please,” he chokes, stumbling forwards. His stammer is bad enough at the best of times, but whatever’s put him in such a state is obviously traumatic enough to have thoroughly twisted his tongue.

The queen moves forwards to help him, but he staggers forwards, limping heavily. Every eye is on him. I don’t think a single person in the room is breathing.

He makes it to the other end of the throne room, and whirls around dramatically, his hand outstretched with the rusty copper band with a single amber jewel set into it. My father’s ring. He’s panicked and breathing hard, but still manages to get out the words as he shouts.

“Sir Redde Tayle is… d—d—d... is d—dead!”


	5. Chapter 4 - Samn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We back fellas. Just think about how much angst the Erins missed out on by putting the perspective in Firepaw's perspective!

Chapter 4 - Samn

I’m falling.

Straight out of the castle.

I plummet through the branches. They dissipate like mist as I punch through them.

I crash to the ground, but it doesn’t stop there. I keep falling.

_Down. Down. Down._

Ravne’s words echo around the hall.

Every like perfectly silent, hanging in beautiful balance, like a wave towering at the top of its peak…

Then it crests, and the peace smashes like a mirror falling to the ground.

The hall erupts into panic. The queen yells futilely above the bedlam. But I only stand there. Removed from it all as I fall.

Then I’m really falling, and my stomach is like an arrow shot from a bow. My body falls to the ground with a thump and I know no more.

…

“Is he going to be alright? Let me see him! I need to see him!” My mother’s panicked voice is the first thing I hear. It’s rough, choked, like she has been crying for a long time. She stumbles over the ‘ _him_ ’s, too distressed to keep a hold of the pronoun.

“Lady Faise, the best thing for him right now is to stay calm,” I hear the healer tell her softly.

“Calm be damned!” my mother snarls. “My husband is dead and my child fainted. _Let. Me. See. Her._ ”

I blink my eyes open to take in harsh, flickering light of the sun and torches. My mother’s shout is met with silence from Spottalia, then footsteps, then my mother leans over me. I flinch away from the sudden sight of her looming face, but I relax and look up at her frightened eyes.

“Samn, oh Samn, what are we going to do?” she murmurs, sounding like she could burst into tears at any second.

“Mum,” my voice scratches out. It sounds far away. “Mum. We’ll be okay.”

But the words are hollow. _Dad._ His smiling face reappears. His rough, calloused hand reaches out to steady me as I take my first steps. Unbidden, tears are pooling in my eyes. There’s not much space, and they’re jostling around, and then they’re spilling down my cheeks.

My mother wraps her arms around me like I’m a lifeboat in the middle of a raging sea. I know my tears are just making her more upset.

Everything’s upside down, wrong. I’m comforting Mum. Dad’s nowhere. I want to fall asleep again, but something pulsing behind my eyes. _It hurts…_ but then the dark tide rises again and I fall back against the pillows.

…

I reawaken to the castle doors being opened.

_Now what? Is it Mum dead? Is Duss dead?_ I wonder hollowly. Tears are crusted on my cheeks. My mouth is dry.

The light is briefly blocked out as Spottalia moves around the room.

“Just relax, Samn, we’ll see what this is about,” she reassures me.

My hands itch to punch something. The healer’s voice irritates me. Really, a lot about her irritates me. _She’s everything I’ve got to make sure I’m not,_ I tell myself silently. _But she’s a good healer. Just focus on that._

I can’t help wanting to yell at her. It’s easier to focus on my dislike than my father’s death… and Spottalia… well, she ticks me off.

The soft-voiced healer in question hurries out of the room and I try to regulate my breathing like Brindellia showed me. It’s mostly to concentrate life-force, but it works for relaxing as well.

_In, two, three, four, five, out, two, three, four, five._ A familiar feeling of warmth shifts across my skin, like sand falling out from some otherworldly hourglass onto me. I breathe deeply, closing my eyes, and then I feel it.

The fifth dimension floods over me, bringing tang so sharp I can barely breathe. _The herbs,_ I realize. While in the normal dimensions, herbs are simply little plants, when I shift, they slam their healing juice powers into my face.

My eyes water and my nose stings, but the feeling of burrowing down into a tunnel of sand is calming. It’s warm, like it’s been heated by a desert sun. The herbs fade from my awareness, but then my concentration shatters as the door of the healer’s wing is thrown open. My head throbs in response, and I wince.

“Quick, lay him on the bed, Sir Cawle,” Spottalia says, sounding on the verge of panic. “He’ll be alright, but I need to get a look at him. Bring in Sir Tayle’s—Sir Tayle as well.”

_Redde Tayle? Father? Is he still alive?_ Hope flares in my chest and I’m breathless, waiting for Spottalia’s next words.

“I have to prepare him for the funeral,” she says, her voice somber and heavy.

The hope rushes out of me. My eyes are stinging again. Tears spill down my cheeks and I muffle my whimper in a mouthful of cotton blanket.

I feel like a child, wanting to burrow in my mother’s skirts and stay there. _Funeral._ The word is hollow, ringing, echoing, empty. It means dark faces and sympathy that doesn’t help. My dad’s body on a marble slab. Kneeling on the ground until my knees cramp and I’m out of tears.

A fresh wave of sobs is shaking me. Father’s face is fading away, never to be seen again. _Why? Why? Blessed Starlaxi, why?_

My heart aches. My head aches.

But before I can dive back into the ocean of sleep, Spottalia reaches me.

“I know this has been a horrible shock for you,” she says comfortingly. I clench my hands into fists. “Here are some herbs that will make you feel better.”

She waves her hand over them, and they glow electric green for a moment.

_Her life-force..._ I remember it suddenly. _Potency. Useful. If all you do is heal…_

I take the herbs silently, crumpling them and putting the knotted ball of plants into my mouth. I try to avoid chewing too much; the taste is sharp. She offers me a glass of water, but I swallow hard and roll back over.

Instantly, heady calm settles across me, like a dragon has sat on me. I breathe deeply, but I’m already going numb.

Maybe I should be alarmed that I’m suddenly getting no messages from any part of my body, but it’s nice not to feel. And with that not-feeling comes my resolve. _I won’t let them see me cry._

…

When I wake up again, something in me has changed. And I know it’s changed because I don’t feel the springing energy and enthusiasm for the new day, just a sucking attachment to my bed. _My bed._

Spottalia must have moved me back to the squire’s wing. The fact manages to annoy me somehow; how am I supposed to hate her and all her tiptoeing mannerisms when she’s so damn nice all the time?

My head falls back against the pillow and a dull throb starts up again. _Relax… let the energy flow through you._ Whit’s instructions for reaching the Trace return to me and I slow my breathing.

The world ripples beneath my closed eyelids and I know I’m there again. It’s different somehow. It doesn’t hurt my head to reach into it. Even if it’s not as natural as Sir Strommer’s always promising it will be, the little breakthrough gives me a tiny shot of victory.

The sweet success is suddenly drowned out by a sharp feeling. _God!_ My hand shoots to the dagger beside my bed when I realize that it’s not a god, but the god-toy that arrived last night. _Last night._ My head throbs again and I burrow deeper into the fifth dimension.

“Samn!” It’s Duss. “Samn, wake up! The queen’s calling a meeting of the court!”

I snap out of the balanced pseudo-reality with a jerk and I find myself staring into the sharp brown eyes of my surly best friend. “Shit! Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”

He blinks at my sudden cuss, but shrugs it off. “Sorry, but I didn’t want to get _gutted_ , you psycho.” He jerks his hand at my dagger.

I relent. “Fine. But let’s go!”

We’re still making eye-contact three seconds later when Duss finally clues in and flushes. “Oh—oh right, I’m—” And he darts out.

Finally alone for a moment. I breathe out heavily, feeling my eyes and nose sting in a way that’s all too familiar. _No._

Before my tears even have a chance to gather on my blonde lashes, I thrust off the quilted covers of my bed and slam my feet down on the warmth-sucking stone. Welcoming the chill it brings, I breathe out shakily. The storm inside me calms a little bit.

I dress quickly, stripping off my sleep-clothes and replacing it with the familiar Thundria tunic. Putting on each boot, rolling up both sleeves, brushing tears from each eye. My new routine.

“Members of the court of Thundria, gather to hear my words!” Queen Bluelianna’s voice echoes through the castle and I rake a comb through my strawberry blonde hair a couple times. The boy in the mirror scowls at me. I leave him to be angry alone and dash into the great hall.

A fresh knife to my chest as I see my father’s body raised on the marble platform. _I couldn’t even stand vigil. Too weak._

But there’s no time for my failures—there are more important matters at hand.

“As you all know, last night brought many sorrows from the battle with Rivier.” The queen’s voice is somber. “Our beloved captain of the guard has fallen to the hand of Rivier’s captain, Oeak Hahrte.” Her voice cracks strangely on his name, but she picks back up after a beat of silence. “Sir Cawle avenged Sir Tayle, striking down—Oeak Hahrte.” And again, the sort of odd, strangled tone.

The court murmurs amongst themselves, but I just need the queen to continue. Something to focus on. Eventually the torrent of whispers ceased and the queen continues, eyes glittering icily.

“This leaves problems twofold and a hole in our lives that will never be mended. The first, Thundria has no captain. And second, one of our squires, Duss, is mentorless. First, I extend the honour of training young Duss to Darriek Styrp. And secondly, the new captain will be…”

Her eyes rove over the assembled court, to land on… not Tigre Cawle, much to his obvious irritation. Liyon Hartef.

“Liyon Hartef. I would be honoured to stand alongside you as the leaders of Thundria,” she said softly, her eyes misty.

The golden knight’s eyes widen, but he drops to his knee and dips his head. “For you, anything, my Queen.”

I exhale. _Not Sir Strommer,_ I note with disappointment, then guilt swamps me for even considering replacing my father. _I hope Sir Hartef does well, but my father…_ My nose is stinging again. _Stop it._

“Thank you. Would Sir Tigre Cawle, Samn, and Lady Brindellia Faise please report to the healer’s wing?” The queen steps down from her throne and sweeps towards Liyon. I notice that she’s wearing a uniform and not ceremonial dress.

_Me? What for?_ But she’s deep in conversation with the new captain, so I turn my steps towards Spottalia Lief’s wing.

My mother makes it before me, but I don’t miss her wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Apparently seeing Father’s body wasn’t any easier for her.

Hearing a step behind me, I sneak a surreptitious glance behind and see the burly warrior that was obviously hoping to be named my father’s successor. His amber eyes are piercing in the darkness, but he’s focused ahead.

I turn my attention back to the hallway and suddenly the carpeted stone opens to the soft, greenhouse lighting of the healer’s wing. Too many of the beds are full. The closest to the door is the one Tigre stops at. Ravne, of course, his squire.

“Rav,” I whisper, brushing the black and white hair that fell over his shut eyes. “Get better soon.”

I look up, and Tigre’s eyes flit away from mine to focus on his apprentice, but I could feel him staring at me, unmistakably. Something about him gives me the creeps.

“Samn?” Spottalia’s breathy voice alerts me to her presence. “Right this way please, I’d like to speak with you and your mother in private.”

I nod heavily, glancing down once more to see Ravne’s face screw up in pain then soften into youthful innocence. He looks like an inky Ser, almost angelic with his hair splayed out around him on the white healer bed. White wings spreading out beneath him wouldn’t look out of place at all. _I wonder if Sers had to always sleep on their front. Did they sleep?_ I’ll check a history textbook later. _What a stupid thought._

“Brindellia, and Samn of course, I just wanted to say,” Spottalia begins, but breaks off for a moment. “Hear me out. I believe… I believe it may be time for Samn to reveal the truth. I don’t think this undue stress-”

“No,” I snap immediately.

“Samn!” My mother reprimands me.

“No! I _won’t_ hear you out. I’m not telling _anyone_.” It’s unthinkable. To tell _everyone_ I was a girl? Never. Duss would probably never speak to me again. I don’t know if Sir Strommer would even train me after that. The queen might reassign me to a lady that would keep me in the kitchen, learning the same four stews over and over again until my hands wear down to bones. “It would ruin everything!”

Spottalia falls silent, and gathers handfuls of her skirts in her fists before continuing with a deep breath. “I figured you might say that, but Samnath—”

“No!” I don’t care if I’m acting like a petulant child. She won’t take the one thing I have away from me. “You would disobey the queen? She’s the one you should discuss this with. I’m not telling _anyone!_ Not until I’m made a knight! A _real_ knight.” _Not the empty title given to the ladies of the court._ The unspoken words don’t need a voice to ring true in all three of our heads.

My mother gives me a reprimanding look, but I don’t care what she thinks.

“I’m _not_!”

And with that, I storm out of the healing wing, straight past Sir Cawle and Ravne.

Only to bang into a certain brightly haired new squire.

“Watch it, _god-toy_ ,” I hiss, shoving him aside. The venomous words are out before I even have a chance to consider them, but they feel instinctively right. _Why should he be offered all the chances in the world, when just because I’m a girl, I get nothing?!_

The only thing I see in the dark corridor is a flash of shocked emerald eyes and then he’s past me and into the healer’s wing.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Graie mumbles as he darts past me too.

It’s like a fresh spear to the chest, but I force the thoughts away and find myself slipping to the side of the door so anyone exiting won’t crash into me. Eavesdropping.

“What’s wrong with _him_?” It’s the new boy. He sounds a little hurt and defensive. _Good._

“That’s Samn. Sir Tayle’s only son. It can’t be easy for him,” Graie says, sounding more sympathetic and serious than I’ve ever heard him.

The words make me curl my fists. _What does he know about loss? What does he know about hurting?_

“Oh.” The new boy has the grace to sound chastened. “That’s… pretty awful.”

“Anything I can help you with?” Spottalia’s breathy voice, of course. “Checking in on your friend?”

There’s a little _oof_ like someone being elbowed in the ribs, then a cough, then Fiyr’s nervous voice says, “Oh—um, yes. Yeah, we’re here to see Ravanee.”

_Ravanee?_ I sneer in my head, my teeth grinding. _He’s never even met him. He should get lost. He should go back to the gods._

Spottalia starts up again, and I can’t take it anymore. I dash down the corridor, not caring if they heard my footsteps. Let them hear it.

I make it back to the great hall in time to see the last of the red sunset slip out of sight. With a heavy sigh, I retreat back to the squire’s wing. I know I’m not sleeping tonight.

“Samn?” Duss’s voice greets me. He’s already changed for bed; his spiky hair is endearingly ruffled.

“Yeah.” The word falls between us, and it finally all catches up with me. Tears are in serious danger of streaming down my cheeks, but I manage, “I’m not sleeping with some _god-toy_ ,” before I dive back into my room so Duss doesn’t see my tears.


	6. Chapter 5 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! We’re back in Firepaw’s perspective for this one. Enjoy!

Chapter 5 - Fiyr

For the first time in nearly a week, my sleep is undisturbed.

That is… until…

“WAKE UP!” Graie’s yell echoes through the squire’s wing painfully loudly. “You missed _breakfast_! The most important meal of the day!”

I snap awake and groggily pull aside the curtain that separates my tiny room from the rest of the wing. Sunlight’s filtering through the cloudy glass windows and I realize that it’s barely past dawn. The gods never woke us up this early. “But… it’s so early!”

“Guess it’s not what you’re used to, being a—former, um, god _employee_ ,” Graie says carefully. He doesn’t need to pick his way over terms for me to know exactly what he means. _If things were easy before, not so much anymore._

“But… _breakfast_!”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Graie says earnestly. “ _Breakfast._ I saved you some fruit.”

“Thanks,” I grunt, catching the apple he flings me.

“Better get dressed, Sir Cawle’s not in the habit of waiting,” Graie informs me, about to pop back out of the room.

“Sir Cawle? Is that who I’m training with?” That’s a daunting task. I barely caught more than a couple of glimpses of the powerful knight, but what I did see was what appeared to be more a beast than a man.

“And Liyon Hartef, the new captain of the guard,” Graie adds. “Sorry, did I not tell you?” His grin lets me know he is less than sorry.

“Is that all?” I sit up in bed, already crunching into the apple.

“Well… also Samn and Duss, the other two Thundria squires that you haven’t properly met yet. There’s me, Ravne, you now, and... uh, _those two_.” His tone on ‘those two’ makes me wonder if I should be worried. He motions to two nooks side by side but I don’t see anything strange about them; it’s the same small desk, bed, and dresser that we both have, although theirs look more lived in than mine, with quills and paper scattered on the desk and books on the dressers.

“I met Samn, right? He was Sir Tayle’s son.” Another stab of pity presses into me.

“That’s right. But forget that for now, get dressed! Fresh clothes are in the top drawer. Hurry!”

And with that, he’s dashing away. I have a brief moment to wonder if he’s capable of normal speeds of movement, but then I’m seized with excitement and enthusiasm for the new day. _Time to find out what this squire lark is about._

…

Four and a half minutes of awkwardly hopping around on one foot while trying to put on my pants and admiring the Thundria emblem on my chest later, I’m finally ready to leave.

Graie’s waiting impatiently by the heavy oak doors of the castle.

“C’mon! Sir Cawle, Sir Hartef, Samn, and Duss are already at the stables. We’re getting our squire ‘quipment today!” And with that, Graie seizes the handles of the doors and flings them open to let the morning’s sunlight in.

By the time I make it to the doorway after him, he’s already gone. My stomach groans at the idea of charging after him on the fuel of only an apple.

I find the stables to see Graie in the middle of an animated explanation of why I haven’t arrived. The minute I set foot in their direction, he spins with a flourish and flings an arm in my direction.

“And there he is!”

“Glad you could take the time out of your busy schedule to join us,” Sir Cawle says coolly.

“Welcome, Fiyr.” Sir Hartef’s greeting is a little more hearty, but he gives me a chiding look. “Make an effort to be on time in the future.”

“Yessir,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “Sorry, sir.”

“Since my squire has unfortunately injured himself,” Tigre drawls, “Liyon and I will be sharing your… training. For the time being.”

I bob my head again. “Yessir.”

“Good to have another squire onboard,” another knight, who I recognize to be Sir Strommer, the knight who accompanied Sir Hartef to bring me back to the castle, says. He gives a little push on the shoulders of the two sullen teens accompanying him. “Introduce yourselves, don’t be rude.”

“Duss,” the shorter but still tall boy with the spiky brown hair, cut suspiciously similarly to Tigre Cawle’s, says. He makes no effort to extend his hand.

“I’m—um, I’m Fiyr,” I say, tripping over my new name.

“I know,” he says rather sourly.

I turn my attention to the other boy, the one I bumped into in the dim corridor of the healer’s wing. _The healer,_ I think, remembering her. Her eyes looked like the doe’s from my dream.

The one that I conclude must be Samn is leaning against the fence of the stables, looking supremely bored; he’s the tallest of the four of us, approaching Sir Strommer’s height, which only adds to his aloof look of superiority. His pale, strawberry blonde hair brushes his neck, glinting golden in the sunlight. His olive-green eyes don’t meet mine, instead wandering across the landscape of treetops. I blink.

“Samn, don’t be rude,” Sir Strommer says, chiding but not harsh.

“I just didn’t think I’d be training with a _god-toy_ is all.” The boy, Samn’s voice is kind of low, rougher than Graie and Duss’s.

His words sting for some inexplicable reason, more than Liang Teyl’s from the previous day. I just don’t know what I did to lose his favour, and I have a weird pull to try to win it back. “I’m not a god-toy anymore. I left.”

“Once a god-toy, always a god-toy,” he says simply, shrugging his narrow shoulders and stretching with a yawn. “Can we hurry up? I’m bored.”

It seems to be an unspoken rule among our mentors to tolerate his rudeness as they glance back and forth silently. _I’d guess it’s because of his father. I wonder if he got special treatment when his father was alive, him being captain and all._

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet your father, he sounds like a great knight,” I say softly.

His face crumples with fury, twisting to anger in an instant and making me recoil. “What would a god-toy know of greatness? I’d appreciate it if you didn’t _pollute_ the air I’m breathing with your god chatter.”

Sir Hartef purses his lips and strides to the front of the stables, evidently deciding he’s had enough of Samn’s attitude. I can’t help only feeling pity for him.

“I’m sure you’ve all been excited—well, perhaps not Fiyr, but you’ll be excited too, soon enough,” Liyon says, drawing our attention to the stable doors. “Your horses await. The carvings were replaced last night.”

A glimmer of interest finally shows up in Samn’s olive green eyes, and I look away after realizing I was sort of staring.

“Wait, horses?” I repeat.

“Yeah, we get horses,” Graie grins, nudging me.

“Graie,” Sir Liyon invites, beckoning him forwards to the stall with a cross and circle symbol on it. “Your horse awaits. In the stall you’ll find your training sword as well. Remember—”

“Yeah yeah, hold the handle and speak its name, I know how it works,” Graie interrupts, then glances back at me. “But Fiyr, think about what you want to call it, ‘cause you’re stuck with it until it takes your knighthood name.”

I nod, silently absorbing the fact that apparently I’m about to own a sword as well. _I don’t think the people in Prin’s books ever_ named _their swords, but alright._ It’s definitely not the weirdest thing I’ve encountered in the last few days.

“Samn,” Sir Strommer says, motioning to a stall door with a symbol that I’m pretty sure is supposed to mimic a sand dunes against a sky. The gods had a tapestry like that.

Samn says nothing, just pushes open the stall door. It reveals a dun mare that's drinking water and pointedly not looking at us. Samn looks faintly surprised, then smiles a little.

Graie starts, like he forgot he was about to get a _horse_ , then pushes open the stall door that Sir Hartef motioned to. Inside is a pale gray horse and a sword hanging at the back of the stable.

“Why didn’t Samn get a sword?” I ask Sir Strommer.

“He’s already got his,” is his reply.

I nod, settling back in to watch Graie coo over his horse.

“I’ve got to think of a good name for him,” he announces.

“What about your sword?” I question.

He reverently lifts the glinting silver weapon off its station by the blade, careful not to touch the handle. “It’s just a practice sword, made of simple steel. I’m not going to have it forever. When I get my true-steel sword, that’s the important one,” Graie explains lightly, but I know the nonchalance is more an act than anything. He grips the handle, and the sword gleams yellow for a moment, and I know it’s not the sunlight. “Hurricane.”

The sword abruptly stops glowing, and Graie grins wildly, giving it a couple experimental swings.

“Watch it!” Duss snaps.

“Duss, your horse awaits,” Sir Hartef says, lifting a hand in the direction of a stall door with a triangle made of dots engraved into the wood.

“Sweet.” He flings with door open with reckless abandon, startling the darker dun mare inside.

I note that he doesn’t have a sword hanging in the stall either, and I mutter to Graie, “So what did _they_ name their swords? Sour and Sullen?”  
“Bolt for Samn’s, Storm for Duss’s,” Graie replies, still turning his own ‘simple steel’ or whatever he called it sword in his hands. “Once they get their full names, it’ll change. Samn’s will be Sand something, and Duss’ll be Dust something. I’ve got ‘gray’ for my first part, so my last part better be epic or I’m going to end up with something stupid like _Graynose_.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to puzzle out his words without looking like a simpleton. “And what are their swords called?” I motion in the direction of Sir Hartef, Sir Cawle, and Sir Strommer.

“Sir Hartef’s is called _Lionheart_ , Sir Cawle’s is _Tigerclaw_ , and Sir Strommer’s is _Whitestorm_ ,” Graie says with a tone of great respect. “They seriously lucked out in the name game. Come to think of it, you’ve got a great name too, but with them, Queen Bluelianna gave them _the greatest names of all time._ But I guess it’s not that surprising, both Sir Hartef and Sir Cawle were born to pretty Old-Thundria families, and Sir Strommer is Queen Bluelianna’s nephew.”

“Her nephew?” I repeat incredulously, studying the slender knight with the bright tufts of white hair gracing his scalp. _He must be at least forty._ “Huh. I guess the queen is older than I thought.”

“Not that much. Her older sister gave birth to him,” Graie explains. “She died a while back.”

_Wow. Everyone has someone close to them who died in this kingdom. Should I be worried?_ But the thought leaves me instantly when Sir Hartef beckons with a wide smile.

“Fiyr, of course, our newest squire.” I puff out my chest. “Your horse awaits.”

He gestures to the final stall on the row. It’s a symbol of a flame. _Fire._

Excitement pounding in my chest, I carefully push the stall door open, and the morning sunshine pours in, illuminating a dark, brick-red horse, and at the back… my sword.

The horse has one strip of white running now its nose and a darker mane and tail, and the sword—

“Mrrooow?”

With a little laugh, Sir Strommer observes, “Looks like you’ve got _three_ gifts today, Fiyr.”

It’s a fluffy cat, with brown and white silky fur that looks almost wet in the sunshine. The cat’s amber eyes regard me with sharp intelligence, and I’m reminded suddenly of a certain sister of mine.

“Princesc—” I cough, not wanting to elicit any questions from these almost strangers. “Princess. I’ll call you Princess.”

The cat rubs its—her head against my shin, purring.

“Hurry up and name your sword!” Graie exclaims, elbowing me forward.

“Okay, jeez!” I exclaim as the cat startles and darts away to an open patch of sunshine where she settles down happily. I wonder if she knows she’s hundreds of feet off the ground supported by leaves alone. _Actually, I_ really _wonder how she got up here._ I step past the horse and carefully unhook the sword from where it’s hanging on the wall.

It’s heavy in my hands, and the leather wrapped hilt is already warm from the sun.

As I grip the handle, it glows dark red, like what I imagine a dragon’s eye would look like. And every ounce of creativity in my body leaves me immediately.

“Well, what are you going to call it?” Graie demands, on the verge of hopping from one foot to another.

I frown a little at the sword, then carefully set it down next to all the riding equipment in the stall. The glow ceases.

“I don’t know,” I confess. “I guess I didn’t really get a chance to think about it.”

“Seriously?” Graie demands. “I’ve got like, _a million_ second picks. How about Tornado? Static? Charge? Lightning? Torch?”

I shrug. “I’ll think about it. I don’t need to decide right away, right?”

“No,” Sir Strommer confirms. “But don’t overthink it; as I’m sure Graie informed you, it won’t be the permanent name.”

“Enough of this pointless chatter,” Tigre Cawle grunts. “Mount your horses, squires, we’re going to the borders. Leave the swords here, you won’t be needing them today.”

“The borders?” I mutter questioningly to Graie.

“Of Thundria. Boy, you sure don’t know anything, huh?” It’s not exactly rude, but the words are still irritating.

“Not _nothing_ , it’s just new,” I defend.

“Try to keep up, god-toy,” Duss jeers, already half-on his horse.

“We’ll be back to check on you after we fetch _our_ horses,” Sir Hartef informs us before turning on his heels so stride towards a larger row of stables where I’m guessing the knights’ horses are kept.

There’s a beat of silence as the knights stride away before Samn breaks it, his husky voice thick with amusement.

“A god-toy trying to mount a horse? This I have to see.”

Of _course_ he’s already on his stupid horse, looking like he’s lounging on a bed. Duss scrambles atop his after a moment too and smirks down at me.

Scowling at them, I turn to where I set down my sword and I realize that I have _no_ idea where to even begin with all of the fancy equipment.

Graie’s making solid progress with his, and I try to copy but I’m soon hopelessly entangled in the buckles and bindings.

“That part’s supposed to go on the horse, not you,” Samn calls out helpfully.

“Thanks,” I snap off, trying not to look at him and Duss.

“I see _someone_ didn’t do stable-work at his owner’s house. Not surprised though, you don’t look like you’ve seen a day of hard work in your life,” Duss snorts. “What were you, a cook? Maybe you can help the ladies out in the kitchen.”

I bite my tongue as they continue jeering, trying in vain to replicate Graie’s sturdy structuring of each piece. He finishes with a final _click_ and turns to me with a grim expression after examining my handiwork.

“Need some help?” he offers.

“Desperately,” I say gratefully, holding out the mess.

“How are you all making out?” Great. The knights have returned, Sir Strommer looking terribly amused by my efforts, Sir Cawle just exasperated. Sir Hartef examines it.

“Do you need help?” the knight offers with an expression that makes me wonder how hard he’s working to suppress his laughter.

“Graie’s helping,” I mutter.

Sir Hartef purses his lips, eyes twinkling. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to organize extra lessons for you to learn to mount a horse. I would put you with the children, but we have none of age at the moment.” _Awesome._

Three excruciating minutes later, my horse is ready to go. They hustle us over to where a peculiar patch of leaves opens up, leaving a hole in the foliage and in an instant I’ve been hurried into it. With a hum of what I now recognized as life-force in my ears, my surroundings are instantly replaced by the forest floor.

I marvel at the abilities of the landscape, but everyone’s lack of reaction suggests this is routine. Suppressing my incredulous comments, I turn to the knights and wait for instruction.

“Let’s ride,” Sir Strommer commands, and we’re off at a quick pace.

My butt is instantly aching. I hazard a glance at the other squires, but they seem to be handling it with ease. _Never seen a day of hard work in his life,_ Duss’s jeer echoes in my ears and I harden my expression.

I can put up with a little aching if it’ll earn his respect.

The horses must’ve been trained well, because even with my limited knowledge of how they work, I can tell the way they pick their way easier through the woods is nothing short of incredible. Just walking, I would already have a faceful of dirt from tripping on the roots that seem to be sticking out of every inch of the ground.

“So have you thought of a name for your sword yet?” Graie says eagerly, his horse just to my right.

“Not yet.” I shrug. “I can’t really think of anything good.”

“What about a name for your horse?” He is undeterrable.

“Uh… dunno.”

“I’m going to name mine Quicksilver,” Graie pronounces, twisting his hand in the horse’s dark gray mane.

“That’s a good name,” I comment blandly, frowning down at my horse like it’s its fault I can’t think of a good name. “What do you think of… um, Nutmeg?”

Graie rolls his eyes. “For a squirrel, maybe. Yours should be something that strikes fear into the hearts of your enemies! And you’ve got a red one, so the fire-themed possibilities are _everywhere_. Though, I do love a good bit of nutmeg on a flaky crust of…”

And he’s off, muttering to himself about baking. I would trust his opinion on the baked goods of the castle, given it’s fairly obvious he’s kind of round around the edges and he’s enjoyed his fair share of pastries.

I pet the horse’s mane absentmindedly, trying to think. _Something fiery? Flame? I don’t know. Graie’s better at this stuff. Ember? Coal? Spark?_ Nutmeg’s still probably my top pick, but I agree with Graie. It should be something _cool._

_Inferno?_ That’s not too bad, I guess.

“I know!” I suddenly give a little excited bounce and the horse jerks forwards. “Blitz! I’ll name him Blitz.”

“Your horse is a girl,” Samn sneers from ahead, twisting around to shoot me a look of scorn. “Are you blind?”

I flush, and not because of the warm sunlight. “ _No._ But Blitz is a perfectly fine name for a girl, they can be fierce too.” I think of Prin on the day of an important performance and shudder. _Straighten up! It looks like the dogs dragged you out of the barns!_

Samn’s expression ripples into a little frown, and he tilts his head, looking a little thoughtful.

“Blitz is a _great_ name,” Graie says approvingly. “Good choice.”

I glow under the praise. _Now I just need to figure out what to name my sword. Pokey-stick?_

“Gods.” The warning is barely out of Sir Cawle mouth before the two other knights abruptly halt.

_How does he know? Are they coming?_ I wonder, adjusting my seating on the now halted horse nervously.

“Safe,” Sir Hartef grunts, and we pass the seemingly innocuous patch of trees.

“How did he know?” I mutter to Graie.

“Checking the Trace,” he explains, then sighs at my bewildered expression. “It’s a sort of alternate reality that you can tap into using your life-force. It’s called that ‘cause _everything_ leaves an invisible imprint on that world when they pass through this one. You can sense their traces. You have a trace that tells everyone who checks it when you’re around that you’re a human fire elementalist, but you have to be really good with life-force to tell other people’s life-force types. I mean, it’s not that hard to narrow it down between alchemist, summoner, or elementalist, but getting into specifics is hard unless you’re _really_ good, like Sir Cawle.”

I nod, a little mystified by the prospect. _I can tell what’s where? Like, magically? And what’s he talking about with ‘alchemist, summoner, or elementalist’? I’m an elementalist, right? Will I be able to sense other elementalists, then?_ But it’s not such a stretch, since not long ago I had been enveloped in fire without so much as a singed eyebrow to show for it. _Why should the gods have all the power? I can do what they can—they don’t have power over me anymore._

We continue straight in the same direction for so long that I begin to wonder just how much land Thundria covers. Though I’m not certain, it feels like it might be much bigger than the gods’ estate from end to end. Eventually, we reach a sheer cliff that cuts sharply, far down enough to make me dizzy, down to reveal a town, framed by the water stretching out for seemingly forever. It’s a beautiful town, storefronts and houses alike spreading across the land, but my eyes are pinned to the water.

“The border?” I can’t believe my ears. “Rivier lives out _there?!_ ”

Because it doesn’t look like the border. It looks like the end of the world. Beyond the town, there isn’t a forest, or plains, or even mountains.

It’s an enormous lake, so wide and expansive, I can only see faint, misty lumps on the horizons that I’m guessing are islands.

“Yes. They’re a nomadic kingdom, never settling on any of the four islands for longer than a season. They live aboard a fleet of galleons, constantly in movement, only stopping to tax the people of the islands to prepare for their next voyage,” Sir Hartef explains. “Below us is the village of the Sun Stones. It’s the largest village in the four kingdoms; a trade fair is hosted there every year that draws merchants from across the kingdoms.”

I gape openly at the lake. I can’t imagine being on a boat every minute of my life; in fact, I’ve never spent even _one_ minute of my life on a boat. Would it feel like always being in movement? Just thinking about it makes me feel queasy.

“Let’s ride,” Sir Cawle snaps. “Doesn’t look like any Rivien warriors are on _our_ territory.”

Sir Hartef shoots him a warning look and I try to puzzle out the exchange to no avail. Something about the emphasis on _our_ territory, I’m guessing.

My horse— _Blitz,_ I think happily—and the rest set off at a quicker pace than before, moving with much more ease on the flatter field between the sharp cliff and the forests of Thundria than they did inside the woods. It seems like we’re heading for four long spires of some kind that point toward the sky in the distance. When we come to where the cliff finally eases off, the sun has travelled a good way through the sky and it’s about midday. My bottom is raw and I’m eager to get off the horse. When we dismount, I gape at the new surroundings.

“Welcome… to the shrine of the four kingdoms,” Sir Hartef says grandly, sweeping a gloved hand across the landscape. “Each solstice, the four kingdoms’ courts amass to share news on the solstice pavilion.”

But I’m barely listening to his explanation as I stare at the ‘shrine of the four kingdoms’.

It’s an enormous clearing, the size of Thundria’s castle in floor space alone. A stone pavilion, that looks ancient but serviceable. Ringing the pavilion are four colossal pillars, each longer than my body in diameter alone. They’re what we saw in the distance before, surely, but I’m astonished by the enormity of them.

I look up, trying to see the top. Each is different, emitting a strange wave of power. It feels like life-force the same way a glass of water looks like an ocean. The one closest to where we arrive, which I assume is Thundria’s, is dark brown with a rough surface like that of the trunk of the biggest tree in the world. Sparks dance up and down its sides, and I have no doubt that touching it would be a terrible idea.

The one to its left, closest to the huge lake, is a pale stone pillar with moss in each crack of the stone, barely visible through the water that rushes down the sides, splashing into a pool at the bottom that rings it like a mini moat. Somehow, the water never seems to rise in the pool, as though it’s sinking into the ground, and the water never stops running down the sides either.

The other two pillars, one to my right and one directly across, are also peculiar and evidently magical. The one on the right must be corresponding to one of the other kingdoms Graie mentioned. _Wind and Shadowa or something,_ I remember.

The pillar I’m guessing is for shadow-kingdom is made of dark stone, obsidian or something like it if I had to guess. It casts a shadow as dark as the stone it’s made of, but the shadow isn’t behaving the way a normal shadow would. It’s pointed in the direction of the sun, for one, and it’s rippling like a reflection of the sky in a pond that was disturbed by a stone.

The one across from Thundria’s is almost too far away to identify, but it’s made of some kind of dark gray stone, slate or something. It’s swirling with dust and the sound of wind whistling through the air can be heard from all the way over here. I squint, trying to figure it out, but I can’t tell what it is from this far away.

“That’s Shodawa,” Graie stage-whispers to me, pointing at the dark pillar way off to our right.

_Show-dah-wah,_ I repeat in my head, trying to fix it there.

“There are a lot of kingdoms, huh?” I mutter back.

Apparently, Sir Hartef can hear us and replies to my comment, “That is why it is so important that we protect our prey.”

Queen Bluelianna’s anger flashes back through my head, and before I can stop myself, it’s all coming back out. “But that’s idiotic! If you all worked together, no one would go hungry.”

The whole group falls silent and the only sound is the wind whistling around the wind-kingdom’s pillar and the water splashing from Rivier’s. Sir Hartef and Sir Strommer look disapproving, Samn and Duss are frowning, Sir Cawle’s face is twisted in anger, and Graie just looks worried.

“Foolish god-toy,” Sir Cawle spits. “Such treacherous thinking, from a newcomer no less. Do not presume to know better than centuries of tradition.”

Sir Hartef puts a calming hand on Sir Cawle’s shoulder and he gives him a look. “Speaking from your heart will make you a strong warrior, Fiyr, but what will make you a _stronger_ warrior is knowing when to speak and when to listen.”

Sir Strommer looks uneasy, and Liyon gives Tigre a quelling look.

“We meet peacefully each solstice, and then is the time for cooperation of the kingdoms against outside threats,” Sir Hartef explains.

“There must be one soon,” I say, then squeeze my mouth shut, embarrassed to have burst out _right after_ Sir Hartef explained the importance of listening. _Maybe… Sir Cawle’s right… But I won’t be newcomer forever._

“Yes, the summer solstice,” he praises. “Very good. But what you must remember is that the truce between kingdoms lasts only for one night, and you could meet any of these knights in battle one day.”

“Loyalty to your kingdom is what makes the court strong,” Sir Cawle interjects. “Letting that loyalty waver for even a moment could be any knight’s downfall.”

“Let’s keep going,” Sir Strommer says glancing between Liyon and Tigre uneasily.

We set off again, this time in the direction of the obsidian pillar and along the line of pine trees and deciduous trees it cuts across the landscape. We haven’t gotten far before Sir Hartef stops us again.

“Soulpath,” he warns cryptically.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“God-toy doesn’t know what a soulpath is?” Duss sneers and I redden defensively.

“Gods travel across them. They’re opal and glass paths,” Sir Strommer explains, motioning to the thick and wide slab of iridescent white that runs through the forest like a glass stream. “They travel that way; their souls can move from place to place easily. You have to be careful, getting hit by a soul would kill you almost instantly, or at least cripple you for life.”

I shiver. The prospect of crashing into the soul of the ten feet tall humanoid deities doesn’t sound appealing. A strange tinkling noise alerts me to movement far down the path, where a sparkling cloud of white seems to be shooting along it. It flies past us and the sound of shattering glass rings in my ears.

“Let’s head back, it looks like everything’s clear,” Liyon announces.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t think I or my backside could handle much more.

…

When we arrive back at the castle, I clamber up the ladder like I did when Sir Strommer and Sir Hartef first brought me to the base of the enormous trees. Duss and Graie follow suit, but I glance back down the ladder a couple of times without seeing Samn before I realize that he’s scaling another of the trees with nothing but his gloves and boots protecting his hands and feet.

I marvel at his ability to scale the tree like a squirrel when I can barely manage on the ridiculously long ladder, when Duss finally snaps, “Would you hurry up? Some of us want to make it to dinner on time.”

_Food,_ my belly rumbles approvingly.

I make it the rest of the way up without incident and _with_ several snarky comments from Duss.

“Squires, return your horses to the stables and wash up for dinner,” Sir Hartef orders.

My brain nearly melts as I realize that after dismounting the horse at the base of the ladder, Blitz has reappeared on top of the tree’s thick foliage, and I’m reminded of my initial concern from yesterday. _Can leaves really support my weight?_ and then Sir Strommer’s answer, _Well, they can support that castle, so I would say your chances are good._

 _They’ve got to be magical,_ I decide. _The horses, the leaves, the trees, the castle, some of it or all of it is enchanted in some way._

“How can you walk so slowly when there’s _food_ to be eaten?!” Graie demands, bouncing over to me.

“Er… I guess I am pretty hungry.” I shrug. “Say, what’s going on with these trees?”

Graie looks down, then back at me with an incredulous expression. “What, the trees? What about them? It’s _dinner_ , who cares?!”

“But like… a castle. On trees,” I explain eloquently.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he says with an air of ‘no-duh’.

“How?”

“Oh, uh, Thundria’s first king, he was a… forest enthusiast,” Graie explains. “He used one of his Nine Blessings—”

“His what?” I repeat, baffled.

Graie runs his hands through his already-messy hair. “Blessed Starlaxi, you sure don’t know _anything_ , huh?”

“Well, I’m trying,” I say, gritting my teeth.

“Okay, so here’s the dealio.” We start off towards the stables as Graie begins to explain the incredibly confusing manner of the kingdoms. “The monarchs, when they ascend, go to the Lunar Crystal to receive these special gifts from the Starlaxi. Nine Blessings, Nine Gifts, Nine Lives, lots of names for it. Basically, super strong celestial magic that can do practically everything. So Thundria’s first king was super committed to the safety of his court, and there was a big war raging between all of the newly formed kingdoms, so he used one of his Nine Blessings to make this entire forest grow much larger, with the central trees hundreds of feet tall.”

He motions to where we stand on the foliage of a colossal tree.

“And then, with either the same blessing or a different one, he created Thundria’s castle and made it possible for us, and the castle obviously, to be supported by just these giant trees,” Graie finishes.

“And the teleporting horses?” I demand, gesturing to Blitz who is now placidly trotting along like she didn’t magically warp up a couple hundred feet moments ago. We head toward the stables and we put them back in their stalls as Graie explains.

“Oh, that was a blessing from one of the other leaders. Though it’s not exactly safe for people to use them, uh, barefoot, so to speak. Safer if you’re on something like, say, a horse. We used it earlier, ‘member?” he explains. “In the early days of Thundria, the blessings were usually used to improve the quality of life for _everybody_ , whereas now it’s usually for healing and stabilizing purposes.”

“Healing? Like, of people?” I frown. “If that celestial magic or whatever is strong enough to make an entire castle stand on top of a giant tree, why would it be wasted on a broken arm or something?”

Graie shakes his head pityingly. “No, not broken arms. Usually, you only have to be around captain level to heal a broken arm in about fifteen or so minutes. That’s the sort of general life magic that _everyone_ has. Using one of the Nine Blessings for healing can literally bring people back to life.”

My jaw drops. “Like… resurrection?”

“Pretty much,” he nods. “But it’s... dicey. That’s why it’s necessary to use a Blessing for it—the natural cycle of life-force kind of disagrees with defying death. What is born of it must return to it. Monarchs usually only save their own lives, because the life-force gets a big bump when leaders die, so it’s usually okay with waiting a bit longer because it’ll be worth it.”

“Hang on, it’s ‘ _okay_ with it?’ As in… is the life-force alive?” I ask, frowning.

“Well, not really.” Graie shrugs. “Sort of. Just don’t question it too much.”

I roll my eyes. _I guess there’s a lot you just have to take for granted around here._

“C’mon, let’s go eat.” He peels off the wall of the stable and starts heading for the doors of the castle.

“Wait!”

_If I’m going to be leaving my whole life behind, then I want to take more than just Princesca with me…_ I think resolutely.

“What? I’m starving, can it wait?” Graie demands.

I duck back into Blitz’s stall and grab the still-nameless sword. The blade illuminates in a glittering blaze of red. I exhale tensely and speak.

“Rusty.”


	7. Chapter 6 - Fiyr

Chapter 6 - Fiyr

“But I wanna _know_!” I complain as Graie practically drags me out by my ear.

“Don’t give them any reason to be smugger than they already are!” he shoots back, and we make it through the doors of the castle. “They _want_ you to fawn over them, demanding to know how the Gathering was. Don’t give them the satisfaction!”

I groan as we make it out into the cool morning air. The sun is just a sliver of gold on the horizon as the day dawns and the leaves are still soaked with dew. Mist hangs over the forest, not washed away by the sunlight yet.

“You don’t want to be late again, do you? I bet you the knights are already up and waiting!” Graie exclaims, then lowers his voice into a gruff and terrible imitation of Sir Hartef. “Graie and Fiyr, late again. You’ll be washing up after dinner for the next thousand years. Really Graie, I’d think you’d put some more effort in now that—”

“G—good morning,” a timid voice interrupts Graie’s performance. The boy I barely met in the healer’s wing on my first day stands on the leaves in front of us. He’s tall and skinny as a bone and as pale as one too.

“Ravne!” Graie grins widely and claps him on the shoulder.

The skinny boy squeals and scuttles backwards. “That’s the one that got hit! Be careful!”

Graie makes a guilty face, but it melts into delight. “Finally, back on your feet huh? Those Rivien bubs sure did a number on you.”

“Yeah,” Ravne grumbles, rotating his shoulder with a hand on it gently, wincing. “Sir Cawle wants me back in training right away. Shhhhh—shhhoulder’s still sore though.”

“Your shoulder?” Graie demands. “What about your _hair?!_ ”

_His hair?_ I wonder, examining the other squire that I’ve only ever seen on a hospital bed and collapsing from exhaustion. _What about it? Ah right, it was longer, wasn’t it?_

It looked like it had been hacked at a couple days ago, clumpy and slashed.

“Yeah, but Sir Cawle’s always wanted me to cut it anyways,” Ravne says softly, shrugging and then wincing again.

“But it’s the best hair!” Graie protests.

Ravne sighs again. I know before he had some kind of long braid, but now it’s trimmed down to soft tendrils around his neck.

“It kept falling out, so Spottalia Lief just cut it,” he sighs, running a hand through it.

“He used to have a braid down to his knees,” Graie explains to me quickly. “Ravne has the _best_ hair.”

The other squire’s pale skin flushes. “Hair didn’t stop my shoulder from getting dislocated.”

“Injuries happen to all knights. You shouldn’t complain; bear pain in silence,” a lower grunt declares from behind us.

I whip around to face Tigre Cawle, the burly amber-eyed man who just spoke.

“Yyyy—yyy—yessir,” Ravne stammers, so quietly it sounds like he’s choking on his words as he stutters through the polite reply.

_Huh?_ His voice before wasn’t exactly dripping with confidence, but he didn’t sound like he was terrified of conversation. Not like now…

“Come on, let’s not waste more time. We’re going to practice hunting,” Sir Hartef says briskly, coming up beside Sir Cawle. “Squires, fetch your horses. Ravne, your horse is in the stable on the far left with your sword.”

Ravne perks up a bit, a glimmer of interest in his eyes.

“Hurry up,” Sir Cawle grunts. “We’ll be at the base of the tree.”

Graie, Ravne, and I hurry back to the squires’ stables, where Ravne leads a sleek black horse with a white dash on its forehead out of his stable, a circle with a feather carving on the door.

“Ooh,” Graie marvels. “What’d you name her?”

“Lenore,” Ravne answers with a shy smile. “Out of some old poem I found in the library.”

I busy myself with trying to sort out Blitz’s harnesses and many buckles like Sir Strommer gave me a crash course on yesterday, and it’s not as impossible as it was, but I’m certainly not as quick as either the knight or Graie.

“So, did you summon for the battle?” Graie quizzes eagerly.

“I don’t want to talk about the battle,” Ravne mumbles, fiddling with a pendant he’s wearing. I squint at it; it’s a black feather and a purple stone hanging off a black cord. _I guess jewelry is more important to people in these kingdoms than it was to the servants back at the gods’ place._ I glance down at the red glass ring on my finger that I’m not sure if I’m allowed to take off or not.

“Ready to go?” Graie asks me, already hopping atop Quicksilver.

“Yep,” I reply, running my hand through Blitz’s mane, still marvelling at the fact that I own a horse now. Adjusting to this life might be easier than I thought.

“Let’s ride,” Ravne says, wheeling his horse around to bring them at a steady pace towards the hole in the foliage, large enough for a horse, that we used on my first day. I lead Blitz onto the hole.

We’ve barely lost our balance when I feel a hum in my ears and a tang in my mouth before I’m suddenly in a different place entirely. I’m only disoriented for a moment before I realize I’m at the base of the tree.

I stare up into the treetops, trying to pinpoint where the castle is located and to see if I can spot Graie, when there’s another hum, but quieter, as he appears beside me.

“We’re going to the outskirts of a nearby town. They have training grounds there that are what we’ll need for today,” Sir Hartef announces. “Remember, you’re representing the future of Thundria, so don’t do anything you wouldn’t do in front of the queen.”

“Translation: don’t be an idiot,” Graie mumbles to me, and Sir Hartef gives him a look.

“Let’s go,” Sir Cawle grunts, and we set off.

…

We’ve only been riding for about five minutes when Graie scoots his horse over to ride next to me.

“We’re almost there,” he informs me.

“How do you know? Aren’t you just a new squire? How often have you been outside?” I grill him.

“Uh, well, technically…” he hedges, then sighs and rolls his eyes. “Three times. But that’s irrelevant, because when you’re still part of the nursery, there’s pretty much nothing to do except play and study. So… yeah, I know the kingdom pretty well. The maps are—okay, it’s weird, but the maps are cool. As for everyone else, I think Samn knows just about every single maneuver since he’s basically unbeatable unless you use life-force, being a stupid ambidex and all, and Duss—”

“Wait, ambidex?” I repeat.

“Which hand do you favour?” Graie asks, and I lift my right hand. “Samn can use both perfectly. It’s not even fair.”

My eyes widen as I absorb this new piece of trivia. _That would’ve come in handy during my routines._

“As I was saying, Duss is pretty much fluent in Old Thundria, but I dunno when that’s ever going to be useful unless he needs to interpret a prophecy or something, so…” Graie explains.

“Old Thundria?” I repeat, hating how I feel like a simpleton.

“Yeah, the language of our ancestors,” he tells me. “Prophecies and stuff are spoken in it. It’s a lot like our language, it’s just… old, I guess. Hard to understand the more complicated sentences.”

I nod. “There’s a lot to know about your kingdoms, huh?”

“Your kingdom now too,” he reminds me. “You’ll pick it up, I have faith in you.”

He grins at me and I can’t help returning it. For a moment, I feel conviction that I made the right choice in leaving the gods. I missed Prin so much last night that I cried into my pillow before I fell asleep, but now, in the sunlight, things look better.

“We’re here,” Sir Cawle announces. “Dismount and tie the reins to one of the fences. Hurry to the middle, and for the Starlaxi’s sake, don’t walk in front of the archery range.”

_Archery,_ my brain echoes. _Wait. Are we going to learn how to shoot arrows? Nice!_ It reminds me of Prin’s silly romance novels; there was always some brave, manly man who could hit a bullseye from on top of his horse in a hurricane - and undoubtedly, it’s all very unrealistic, but I’m still eager to try.

Graie’s already attached his horse to the fence and is charging across the field towards where a couple of figures in the distance are standing on a raised wooden platform. A couple of buildings stand further across the field and I see what looks like pens for sheep that have no sheep or grass in them. _What are those for?_

I realize with a flush of embarrassment that I can’t get off my horse alone. I don’t dare ask Sir Cawle for help, and I can’t ask Sir Hartef because Sir Cawle would see too. I guess that leaves…

“Psst! Ravne!” I hiss.

He’s tying his horse to the fence and his head snaps up to stare at me with big, spooked eyes.

“W—what?”

“Um…” I flush in embarrassment again. “Can.. you help me off my horse?”

“Oh.” He blinks like an owl. “Yeah, sure.”

Breathing out a sigh of relief that he isn’t going to tease me, I grab his offered wrists that are surprisingly wiry for such a slight boy and hop down.

“What’s your name?” The black-haired boy asks.

“Um… oh, Graie didn’t introduce me,” I realize. “Sorry. I’m Fiyr.”

His eyes widen a little. “F—f—f—um, fire elementalist, then?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.” He doesn’t offer a description of whatever sort of life-force he has, and I don’t have time to press him because Liyon and Tigre are already setting off towards the raised wood platform.

_If he knew that my life-force was fire straight off my name, then I’m guessing his name has something to do with his life-force. Ravne… raven, probably? But what does that even mean? He can control birds, maybe? Do they name all their children for their life-force? That’s kind of… weird._

“Fiyr! Hurry up!” Sir Hartef called across the field, and I realized I was the only one still idling beside the horses.

I run a hand through my messy ginger hair—why didn’t I bother looking for a comb?—and set off at a quick jog towards the archery platform. It was only about five steps up and I make it without breathing hard.

In time to see Samn release an arrow straight into the bullseye.

_Really?_ Really? _Are you kidding me?_ Because it wasn’t enough that he was the son of the captain of the guard, according to Graie someone who had already memorized all the maneuvers with a sword, _and_ an ‘ambidex’, he also _had_ to be brilliant at archery. _Come on._

“Samn,” Sir Hartef snaps, unusually harsh. “Safety first; no arrows until everybody’s up.”

“He’s here,” Samn says dismissively, not even a glimmer of repentance in his icy olive eyes. “Can’t we start? I’m going to die of boredom.”

Sir Hartef’s nostrils flare silently, but he nods curtly.

“Sir Styrp and Sir Strommer, help Samn and Duss on targets A and B. Sir Cawle, Ravne shoots on C, and I’ll help Graie and Fiyr with D and E.” He points at each of the targets in order as he assigns the knights and squires. “Start with five arrows each.”

Samn sucks his teeth rudely, and is ignored by Sir Hartef.

“Alright, Graie, want to show Fiyr what you know so far?” Liyon invites, gesturing towards where a bow and quiver hang on the fence blocking us from falling off.

Graie grins at me and slung the quiver over his back. He picks up the bow and pulls out an arrow, stringing it like he’s practiced it a thousand times. _Must be one of the things you can do in the nursery or whatever,_ I think, frustration at how all the other squires have headstarts zinging through me.

“Okay, so you have to pull it back as far as you can, but also hold it steady,” he explains, screwing up his face with concentration as the bow shakes in his hands with the force of his effort. “This is just a practice one, of course, you get proper ones when you’re actually strong enough to use them. The targets are closer too.”

I examine his grip on the bow, trying to commit it to memory so I can replicate it later.

He lets the arrow fly, and despite how good his aim seemed from where we’re standing, the point sinks into one of the outer black rings.

“Not bad,” Sir Hartef praises. “You’ve improved from last time.”

“Can I try?” I ask eagerly.

“There’s another bow and quiver over there,” Graie informs me, his eyes still locked on the target as he strings another arrow with deep concentration.

Just as I’m stringing an arrow of my own, I sneak a peek over to where Ravne, Duss, and Samn are shooting. Ravne’s are mostly decorating the furthest ring, but there’s one that landed near the middle. Duss is making out fairly well, although one is wedged in the hay bales behind the targets. Samn’s arrows have made a tight ring around the centre of the target, but he hasn’t made any more bullseyes.

I take a deep breath, trying to only focus on the multicoloured circle that stands about ten feet away. Stringing an arrow on this higher quality bow feels much smoother, but when I try to pull it back, it doesn’t budge.

“Um, Sir Hartef, I think it’s… uh, broken or something,” I say, still yanking at it.

“You have to pull harder,” he informs me.

_Harder?_ But I’m pulling with all my might! Finally, it creaks back a fraction. Frustration brings me new strength, and I manage to pull it back hard enough to bring the slightest curve into the wood.

I release the arrow, and it clumsily skids across the field before sliding to a stop a couple feet in front of the target.

Shame burns my ears and I can feel my face heating up until I’m certain it’s the same colour as my hair.

A howl of laughter resounds from somewhere far to my left. After the first peal, Duss’s breath is coming in heavy pants as he continues to heave with laughter.

“Can’t even make it to the target,” Samn observes snidely, only incensing Duss’s mirth. “Was he aiming for an ant on the dirt?”

Duss’s eyes have welled up with tears as he laughs and my eyes well up too for completely different reasons. A hot ball of anger is tightening in my throat, but I won’t cry in front of these jerks.

“It’s okay, no one’s perfect on their first try.”

_I bet Samn was,_ I think furiously, ducking my face into my sleeve to soak away any tears that think they’re gonna make it past me.

“Ravne! Are you even trying? Do you really want to be shown up by a god-toy?” Sir Cawle demands, voice sharp with anger.

I dart a glance over to where Ravne’s still trying to nock another arrow and having difficulty because his hands are shaking so badly. Sir Cawle is standing over his shoulder, still barking orders.

When Ravne’s arrow finally finds its place, Ravne’s hands shake so hard he can barely pull back the string. When he finally does and releases the arrow, it shoots off sideways and disappears into a hay bale.

“For the Starlaxi’s sake!” Sir Cawle shouts. “How are you so incompetent?”

I feel pity for Ravne, but it turns to surprise when Samn hops over the fence separating the targets and storms up to Sir Cawle, staring him straight in the eye.

“His shoulder hurts! Lay off him, he’s doing his best,” he snaps.

“If I wanted input from a squire, I would have asked for it.” His tone is so different from the boiling anger he used with Ravne. It’s dropped into icy, almost soft tones, and it’s _terrifying_. I’m suddenly grateful I didn’t speak up.

Samn’s eyes glitter with restrained anger but backs down with a deferential dip of his head and he steps back to the fence that he jumped without a second thought just a moment ago. “Yessir.”

“You would do well to hold your tongue in the future,” Sir Cawle hisses.

He ducks his head further down and awkwardly returns to his target.

Duss has a conflicted look and Samn just folds his arms defensively, staring him down. Ravne has his head down, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

_He cares?_ A weird sentiment coming from the sullen, nasty person he’s shown himself to be so far, but I guess not everyone’s exactly what they look like on first appearance. Silence hangs in the air.

“Keep practicing,” Sir Hartef orders. “Sir Cawle, I’ll help Ravne and you can supervise Graie and Fiyr.”

“Hopefully you two aren’t as disastrously talentless,” the knight grumbles.

“Dearie me, I’m afraid I’m more ‘talentless’ than a rotting log,” Graie says theatrically, pretending to nock his bow with arms flailing around like they’re made of jelly. “Oh no, I’ll just have to drop out of trees and tackle the deer to catch them.” He glances Ravne’s way surreptitiously like he’s checking to see if he’s smiling.

I grin at Graie, but I can’t help worrying about Ravne. Tigre seems really harsh. _Oh joy, now he’s supervising us…_

I can already tell that the rest of today is just going to be a bundle of delight.

We’ve only gone through a couple more rounds of arrows, Sir Hartef gently guiding Ravne until the jumpy boy can finally land an arrow in one of the middle rings, Sir Cawle sourly folding his arms behind us, and Samn finishing with another bullseye, before Sir Hartef calls for us to stop.

“Alright squires, you’re going hunting around this village,” Sir Hartef announces. “Your mentors will lead you to your hunting area.”

We all clamber down from the raised shooting platform and split off into pairs of squire and knight.

I shoot a nervous glance at where Ravne is standing as far away from Sir Cawle as he can without being properly ‘un-paired’.

“Come along, Fiyr, sun’s going down in just a couple hours and we don’t want to be late for dinner,” Liyon says briskly, leading me further away from the village and the training ground and into the forest. “Don’t be worried if you don’t catch anything. It’s your first time out as a squire, and you don’t have the same advantages as the others.”

_That may be true, but I_ have _to bring back something, or I’m going to look like a total idiot._

An hour later, all I have to show for my efforts is a smudged face and a sweaty back. _I have to!_ What I lack in skill, I’m going to make up for in enthusiasm and adrenaline if it kills me!

Another hour passed, and still nothing.

“Fiyr! We should head back soon!” Liyon calls from through the trees.

I don’t reply as a rustling alerted me. His cry has spooked something, and it’s about to come at me. A fat rabbit jumps out of the bushes, just a white flash, but I jump forwards faster than I thought I could and grab it. I still have a dagger I stole from the gods hidden in my boot and with one hand still locked around the now-writhing rabbit, I bury the blade into it.

It jerks back and forth as it dies, blood spattering my hands, but when it finally goes still, triumph flares inside me.

“I caught a rabbit!” I yell to Sir Hartef.

The knight strides into the clearing, the fading sun catching on his golden beard. “Well, it seems I underestimated you. Well done.”

I crow in triumph, pumping my fist in the air. I pull the knife out of the rabbit and wipe the blood on the front of my uniform, making a face at the smear that appears, and slip it back into my boot.

“Let’s head back to the castle.”

…

It’s been a year since that first training session, and I’ve slotted into the courtlife with surprising ease. My routine doesn’t stray, Graie’s a close friend and Ravne’s fun to talk to on occasion. Samn and Duss haven’t changed their jerky ways, but that’s no surprise. I’ve gotten better at archery, though it’s still hard to string the bow.

The most interesting change so far’s been life-force practice.

I finally found something I can do better than Samn, much to the aforementioned strawberry-blonde’s chagrin. Dipping into the Trace is almost like a second nature, and my fire blazes brighter everyday, whereas he can only whip up a bit of eye-stinging sand on occasion.

Today, however, isn’t life-force practice.

I’m finally on a solo hunting mission, my quiver strung to my back and bow in hand.

A deer in my sights, I creep closer, wary of my boots cracking any sticks underfoot. Closer, closer…

Suddenly, something spooks the deer and it gallops away deeper into the forest. _Damn._ An uneasy feeling drops into my stomach. _I didn’t spook the deer, so what did?_

I switch into the fifth dimension, careful and expecting something to jump out at me.

It’s another person, but I can’t… it’s flowing the wrong way, and I can’t ascertain what exactly it is… _Wynnd!_

A rival knight, on our territory?! I creep closer to where the life-force is emanating from, and I jump, preparing to wrestle them to the ground.

“Oi!” A familiar voice shouts as I barrel into him.

“Gr—” I begin to say, when he flips me and draws his sword.

“Fiyr,” he says, relieved, dropping his sword.

“AHA! You fell for my clever trick!” I fake triumph and whip out Rusty.

He frowns, then a grin breaks over his face. “I fell for nothing! Have at thee!”

We cross swords a couple times, the clang of metal probably scaring off anything hunt-able in a kilometre’s radius, but I’m having too much fun to care. Finally, he knocks Rusty out of my hands and drops to sit cross legged with a heavy sigh.

“Oof, you’ve certainly improved,” he snorted. “Tired of getting your butt handed to you by every member of the court?”

“Oh, hush.” I poke him with the toe of my boot.

“Need some help with hunting?” he offers.

“Well, as Thundria’s resident prodigy squire,” I joke, “I don’t need _help_ , but you can keep me company.”

He snorts and jumps to his feet. When he offers me a hand, I swat it away and jackknife to my feet like I used to for the gods.

“Ooh, fancy boy,” he drawls.

I punch him in the shoulder, and we set off.

We’ve only been pretending to hunt for about five minutes when suddenly I freeze; a new presence, so strong that I can sense it even without life-force, washes over us. When I slip into the fifth dimension, I can already feel the waves of honey-sweet power, dripping with sickening sweetness and elegance.

“Wh—what’s that?” I stutter, snapping back to reality when Graie flicks my shoulder.

He closes his eyes the way he always does when he taps the life-force, regardless of the dozens of times Sir Hartef has explained to him how pointless it is.

His eyes pop open a minute later and he makes a startled, then fearful look. “Shiiiiiiiiiiiit.”

“What?”

“Elf. Shit, we gotta move before—shit shit shit!” Graie grabs my tunic in one hand and hauls me back into the bushes as a flurry of autumnal leaves— _despite it being summer_ —whip past. We duck under the bush and I watch, breathless, as the leaves drift to the floor and then disintegrate.

“Whew.” He sags in relief. “Thank the Starlaxi it didn’t find us. Those things are _bad news_.”

“Leaves.” I frown, trying to place where I saw the same thing. “Wait—I think I was following one of the those when I first met you.”

“Seriously? Well, you have no idea how lucky you are,” Graie snorts. “Those monsters lure people down into their realms and then kill them and eat them. More hypnotizing and sly than dragons, but about as dangerous.”

“Pardon, _dragons?_ ” I repeat incredulously. I’ve been here for a year and no one mentioned dragons. _Those are real?_

“Um, yeah. Dragons. Ever wondered how Heff Tyle lost his arm?” Graie says. “Vicious as the Blacklands. He used to hunt them. The dragonslayer. Not so much anymore.”

“Damn,” I mumble, picturing the firebreathing beasts on display on tapestries back at the gods’ place.

“No kidding,” Graie agrees, and we lapse into silence for a moment, before he says, “C’mon, let’s go catch something, or Sir Hartef’s going to knock me into next week.”

I nod and we set off into the forest again, this time actually being careful to listen for prey before we go flying off on rampages through bushes. We’re tracking a boar when I realize that we’ve made it all the way to the Shodawes border. The shimmering soulpath cuts through the trees, and the boar charges straight across.

“Damn it!” Graie exclaims, his belly rumbling in protest.

Undeterred, I take a step onto the soulpath, a glassy thunk when my boot touches down. I’ve gone on patrols down to this border a few times, but always with a knight supervising, who would never let me find out what...

“Whoa whoa whoa, Fiyr, what are you doing?” Graie demands, reaching for my shoulder, but I take another step.

Suddenly, I hear a sound like tinkling of broken glass and on instinct, I throw myself back. A blazing white light shoots through the soulpath like a comet and fades almost immediately after.

“Are you insane?!” Graie demands, yanking me back. The joking is gone, his eyes are wild with terror. “Do you know how dangerous that is?! What in the Blacklands were you thinking? You could have been killed! Or corrupted! Or fucking _killed_!” His voice breaks on the last word, and I have to wonder if he might have lost someone close the same way in the past.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, darting a glance up at the Shodawes forests. “I thought…”

I’m cut off by a loud squeal as our previous target is ended. “Looks like a Shodawes knight got to it first,” Graie states grimly, peering into the trees. “We gotta head back.”

I nod, my heart still pounding from my close encounter with the soulpath.


	8. Chapter 7 - Samn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, here's the latest chapter. It's in Samn's perspective again!

Chapter 7 - Samn

The forest isn’t ever quiet.

I’ve noticed that in the past two years of being a squire. Watching the seasons change, stepping through every inch of the forest, it’s the only thing that will never change.

The closest it ever gets to totally silent is in the winter, when everything’s muffled and quieted. But there’s always something. A rustle of an animal somewhere deep in the earth, the flutter and thump of snow sliding off a tree and thumping dully onto the earth, brittle boughs finally giving way beneath the weight of accumulated snow.

Stepping through the spring forest now, I can hear an extraordinary symphony of life bursting into the world. It’s hopeful. And hope has been something running low for me lately. _Ever since… Ever since Fiyr, ever since my father._

But in the aftermath and the chaos, the havoc inside me, I’ve made up my mind more fiercely than ever. No one will see me break down. And it’s getting easier.

Suddenly, something catches my attention.

It’s someone creeping through the trees, and someone _not_ Thundrian. I take a deep breath, dipping into the fifth dimension and let it wash over me. _Definitely not Thundrian… and not just that… Shodawes!_

But I’ve barely come across this when I hear a yelp of surprise.

Carefully peeping out of the bush I’m hidden behind, I catch a glimpse of what elicited this cry.

It’s definitely another person, and definitely Shodawes. And more, _Fiyr_ , the newcomer upstart with far too much talent with the life force than was remotely fair, had just jumped the stranger, sword unsheathed.

I gape as he unabashedly engages a total stranger in combat.

His opponent is somehow familiar to me… but I just can’t place it. It’s a woman, old but not elderly, with early salt and pepper hair and a weathered face. Her eyes gleam with cunning and I’m not sure I trust her in the slightest. I’ve seen her somewhere before, I’m certain. _If she’s Shodawes_ — _the Gathering, maybe?_

She grins suddenly as Fiyr takes a slash at her, revealing scraggly yellow teeth. She may never have seen a toothbrush in her life. Cloaked in a ragged black cloak, stinking of Shodawa, and a broken smile barely visible in the shadowed face of this woman, she’s a fearsome sight. Yet I watch as Fiyr crosses swords with her, again and again, undaunted by her unsettling grin.

I can tell pretty quickly that it’s not a fair fight, though; Fiyr might be talented with the life-force, but this woman’s viciousness can’t be matched and he doesn’t have any fire to manipulate. He won’t be able to summon it on his own until he’s a full knight.

Soon enough, the Shodawes woman has Fiyr knocked to the ground and despite her haggard appearance, pins him with deft precision.

“Squires make easy prey,” she snarks, looming over him, her voice no less bristly and coarse than her silver-streaked hair. “Say goodbye to the last face you’ll ever—”

The woman cries out suddenly as Fiyr punches her in the gut.

_Ooh, that’s gotta hurt,_ I think, wincing.

As she gasps like a beached fish, he shoves her off of him and springs to his feet with cat-like grace.

The Shodawes woman brandishes her sword with bravado, a cunning glint in her yellow eyes, and springs forwards only for her knees to give out under her. She crashes to the forest floor unceremoniously and groans with pain.

I open my mouth to shout out a warning to Fiyr. _It’s a trap!_

But it’s unnecessary, because even as the ginger-haired boy is heaving in breaths, he points Rusty at her.

“I won’t fall for my own trick,” he threatens.

The woman grunts. “It’s not a trick. Just finish me off, will you?”

From my vantage point, I don’t exactly have a clear look at Fiyr’s face, but I can tell he’s conflicted as his shoulders tense and his sword doesn’t sink into her throat.

“What’s wrong with you?” she demands, inching closer to him and trying to push herself to her feet. “Can’t finish me off? What are you, a coward? A god-toy?”

If I thought Fiyr’s shoulders were tense, it’s nothing compared to his posture now. He stiffens like ice flash-freezing and his grip on the sword tightens until his whole arm is shaking with the force of his grip.

The woman crows with malicious amusement. His reaction has not gone unnoticed. “Is Thundria so desperate that they’re bringing in squires right off the gods’ doorsteps?”

“I’m not a god-toy,” he shouts at her, his sword still shaking.

“Then prove it and finish me off!” she hisses back.

Tension hangs in the air.

_Will he really do it? He’s been here long enough to know that knights don’t kill…_ I tell myself, but a tingle of worry runs up my spine. _How important is it to him to prove himself?_

A moment later, with decisive movements, Fiyr sheathes his sword. The woman flinches and glares at him with unbridled fury.

“Wait here,” he orders, undeterred.

_What?_ Confusion runs over me. Of the possible outcomes to this situation, I didn’t think running away would be the one he goes for. _Where is he going?_

But as he exits the clearing, I make up my mind. If this slippery Shodawes snake thinks she’s getting away, she’s got another thought coming.

I watch her but she doesn’t even shift. It becomes clear very quickly that there’s something seriously wrong with her. Not just physically—of course, her left leg is obviously deeply injured, but there’s something more to it.

Her head’s gone limp, like her neck abruptly lost all contents and is now sagging. Her shoulders are shaking, but I narrow my eyes. She doesn’t seem like the type to cry in the middle of enemy territory…

But she’s not crying is she?

She’s… laughing?

Hysterical, hoarse rasps.

_Has she lost it?_

“My hope, wish, I’ll—be with you soon…” she croaks softly, slowly leaning back and groaning in pain.

_What in the name of the Starlaxi is she talking about…?_

I stay in the bushes, legs cramping, my hand on the hilt of Bolt, but the hag doesn’t shift from her prone position on the grass. It can’t be comfortable, but she doesn’t so much as a wheeze.

I’ve half a mind to just run back to the castle, but no matter how well the god-toy’s been fitting in, I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.

I mean, I’ve thought about throwing him off one of the higher trees in Thundria a few times. Of course. Who hasn’t?

The point is, if he thinks I’m leaving him alone with this creepy lady, he’s got another think coming.

As I lose feeling in my legs, I’m starting to regret the life choices I’ve made in babysitting this freakish hag while Fiyr hopefully _immediately_ reports the intruder like he’s _supposed_ to do.

“I’ve brought you some rations.”

_What in Thundria’s good green forests is this imbecile doing?!_

I stare, floored, as the impetuous upstart of a squire unloads one of the training reserves, small and well-hidden packs of fruit and meat, onto the ground of the clearing.

_Stealing food?! To feed?!_ An intruder _?!_ If I thought he was stupid before…

“Don’t suppose you brought a change of clothes? I’ve been travelling for a while,” she grunts, still lying in a heap of ragged black cloth (which I’m starting to question whether is actually black or just upsettingly dirty).

“Sorry, the luxury services go to those who use the front door,” Fiyr shoots back wryly. Any residual discomfort from the ‘god-toy’ comment seems to have washed off in his impromptu scavenger hunt.

“Your thrice-damned castle’s nestled between the ass-cheeks of enough trees to give an elf a headache,” the woman spits between ravenous bites of jerky. “And force-protected too. Don’t they teach you squires anything, or is that reserved for _real_ knights?”

I choke back a snort at her vulgarity.

Fiyr takes her triple-pronged-jab of a comment in stride, barely blinking as he watches her eat.

“Well don’t sit there like a dead owl, you must be hungry too,” she says roughly, simultaneously eyeing the flavoured chicken jerky possessively. “And sit down for Shodawa’s sake, before that bad knee gives you early-onset arthritis.”

He cocks his head, and I react similarly from my bush. _That’s a weird—_ then it suddenly snaps into place and I do my very best not to make too much noise as I kick myself.

_That’s Yllowei Fennen, Shodawa’s_ — _blessed Starlaxi, I have to get someone before she strings up Fiyr’s entrails!_ I realize suddenly, blood rushing to my head. _How did I not recognize her sooner? Not every knight in the kingdoms is rampaging around with teeth bad enough for the sight to kill someone from across a moor._

And not just every knight…

It’s Shodawes court healer.

Enough things are _not_ making sense right now that I know I’m going to need the queen for it. _She’ll know what to do, she always knows what to do…_

So as quietly and delicately as I can, I stand from my hiding place in the bush and slowly back away. But before I get far enough to feel even remotely safe…

Yllowei’s head lifts, so slightly, and knife-sharp hazel eyes glitter at me, then she looks back at Fiyr and continues like nothing happened. _Oh_ blessed _Starlaxi above, she saw me, she saw me, shit- shit-shit…_

Concentrating, I slip into the fifth dimension, and I clear the crunchy sand from my path on the forest floor, leaving silent, soft dirt, and I creep away.

I’m quite a ways away before I breathe again.

It’s all I can do not to scream.

What is that Starlaxi-forsaken moron trying to do, win the award of quickest-to-be-kicked-out-of-the-court?! _Because he’s well on his damn way!_

My hand still tightly gripped around the hilt of Bolt as I hurry through the forest to where Dune’s tied to a tree, grazing. _I mean, even if he’s acting like a complete idiot, I’d rather he didn’t… uh, die. Didn’t Sir Strommer say that Lady Fennen trained as a warrior? And Fiyr’s practically defenseless without his life-force and no matter how talented he is, he won’t be able to summon fire out of thin air ‘til he’s a knight, and if Yllowei’s gift has anything to do with draining life-force…_

Usually, the gifts of important court members was a closely guarded secret. Of course, rumours always spread… I shudder, thinking of Braukkiniaum Star and all the horror stories than go with the rumours of his life-force. I haven’t the foggiest what Yllowei Fennen can do, and given that she trained as both a healer and a knight, I can’t narrow it down.

She’s a total wild card.

_And first impressions are worth anything, more dangerous than a cornered elf._

This thought makes me squeeze Dune’s flanks a little tighter and I reach the base of the castle’s trees in no time. I dismount and scale the side of the trees and charge across the leafy treetops to the heavy doors of the castle.

I knock as hard as I dare, knowing from personal experience it’s all too easy to scrape my knuckles on the heavy door.

“Enter,” a voice emerges from within, easily identifiable as Willowamina Peilte.

“Samn,” I supply, pushing open the door as I see the ash-blonde woman lower her sword. “Good afternoon, I need to speak with Queen Bluelianna Star immediately.”

Willowamina gives me a short nod and waves me forwards. The queen is deep in conversation with Liyon Hartef, so I cough lightly to announce myself. Normally, I’d hang around awkwardly until she had a moment, but this isn’t really something that I’m willing to delay.

“Samn?” Her head tilts in my direction for a moment, sharp blue eyes searching my face. “Is it urgent?”  
“Yes,” I stammer, dipping into a quick bow.

“Out with it, then,” she says, waving her hand to dismiss the courtesy.

“Uh, there’s an intruder in the east forests, and Fiyr’s… um… feeding her,” I mumble, suddenly aware that if this isn’t handled delicately, the other squire’s about to be in a world of trouble.

“Of one of the other kingdoms?” the queen asks sharply, handing off the stack of papers to Sir Hartef without a second glance.

“It’s Yllowei Fennen, Your Majesty.” My throat constricts again but I forge onwards. “Fiyr caught her and engaged, but she seemed to be beaten so he left her there, then went and stole a bag of training rations to give her… and then, um, ate some as well…”

It’s common knowledge among squires that training rations, without permission, are one hundred percent off limits. They’re only for quick lunches in the middle of hard days of training, and _only_ allowed if you have express permission from a knight. _Of which Fiyr had neither,_ I seethe.

The queen draws a sharp breath and her hands go to her temples in a familiar thinking pose. She rubs them lightly and then opens her eyes. “If what you’re saying is true, this is… a _very_ serious accusation against Fiyr.”

“I can take you right to the spot,” I offer, twisting my sandstone and sea-glass ring around nervously. “Lady Fennen doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere in a hurry.”

“If her intent is harmful, then I wouldn’t be certain of that,” the queen says softly, still rubbing her temples with a pained expression.

I bob another bow and turn to head back into the throne room. A soft _swish_ alerts me to the queen dropping her heavy ceremonial cape.

She takes the heavy medallion around her neck in hand and closes her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before pronouncing, “Sir Tigre Cawle and Sir Darriek Styrp, to me.”

By my count, it’s not even ten seconds before both men arrive in the throne room and bow sleekly to the queen. She purses her lips and turns back to me.

“Well, Samn, lead the way.”

…

We hear them before we see them. Well, honestly, I smell Yllowei’s rank before I even hear them.

It sounds like the court healer’s been snarking at Fiyr for the entire time that it took me to go to the castle and get back. _Well, maybe that’ll teach him not to give out kindness and food to every damn person he sees,_ I think harshly, but Fennen’s teasing doesn’t seem to be cruel, just a bit rude.

The queen motions Sir Styrp back as the gray-and-black-haired man had begun to advance.

The gesture’s clear; _I’ll deal with this._

Sir Cawle’s displeased expression twists darker, but Queen Bluelianna’s already turned back, ready to challenge the intruder. But before she pushes into the clearing, I catch a glimpse of her expression. Not hard or angry… contemplative.

_What’s there to contemplate?! Take Yllowei prisoner and throw Fiyr back to his gods!_

“Well, your majesty, are you going to come out?” Lady Fennen calls out sarcastically.

With surprising dignity, the queen sweeps into the clearing, and I spot tiny patches of frost where her boots tread.

“I think I’ll be asking the questions,” she says, her voice already slipping into a cold, measured tone that makes me feel embarrassed at my own behaviour for no reason.

Fiyr drops the apple he’s been biting into with a guilty expression. I feel vindicated.

“Yllowei Fennen, by the court of Thundria and under the watchful eye of the Starlaxi, I am arrest you for stealing and trespassing,” Queen Bluelianna announces.

Yllowei chews on that and a piece of jerky for a minute, before spitting at the queen’s feet.

“Doesn’t sound like a question to me.”

…

I watch as Sir Styrp and Sir Cawle join the queen in the clearing, flanking her and then, at her signal, tying Yllowei’s hands in front of her.

Running my hand through my hair with a sigh, I wonder what the queen plans on doing with Fiyr. He’s not getting off free, I know that much. Stealing’s a pretty high offense. But she seems to favour him enough not to throw him out of doors, so I’m not sure exactly what it’s going to be.

 _I just hope it’s not kitchen duty_ , I think, wincing as I remember what happened last time he and Graie were cooking. Fiyr nearly burned down the castle. Graie’s scones were good, though.

Lady Fennen tries to stand up after Darriek and Tigre release her now-bound hands, but her leg gives way under her and she falls back with a groan.

“Well, Fiyr,” the queen says softly, turning back to the ginger-haired boy. “An explanation would be in order, although I doubt it will add any additional information.”

“She was weak and hungry,” the squire mumbles. “I was just—”

“Also feeling weak and hungry enough to eat stolen food?” The queen cocks her head and Fiyr deflates under the rhetorical question. “You’ve taken a most interesting prisoner though.”

And with that, much to the surprise of everyone except Bluelianna and Yllowei, she takes the Shodawes healer’s hands and pulls her to her feet.

“Captured the court healer of Shodawa, I see,” the queen observes, glancing at Fiyr with a raised eyebrow. _He’s never been to a Gathering, he might not even know who she is…_

“Not anymore,” the haggard woman replies, her voice hoarse. “I travel alone now.”

Sir Tigre Cawle snorts derisively, and when the queen turns to him with an inscrutable expression, he just shrugs and says, “Must’ve fallen on some pretty rough times to get beaten by a _squire…_ ”

Pretty clear to everybody that when he says squire, he’s saying rather a lot more.

Sir Styrp sucks his teeth and says sourly, “I say we kill her and send _Fiyr_ straight back to his gods. Clearly hasn’t learned much in the last year.”

The mentioned squire’s eyes flash with panic, and the queen’s expression is almost amused. “Well, _I_ say we don’t, and I have a feeling that’s going to be the prevailing agreement. We’ll take her back to the castle. Can you ride?”

It’s directed at Yllowei, who snorts and narrows her eyes. “I’m hurt, not dead, of course I can. You don’t have an extra horse, do you?”

“You can take Fiyr’s,” the queen decides, her gaze falling on the squire. “Fiyr will be walking back with Samn, who I dare say will set him straight on how a proper squire of Thundria should behave.”

A thorny sigh drags itself out of my throat. _Cover blown._ I stand up from where I was crouching in the bushes. _Ugh… I don’t want to drag this idiot all the way back on foot. I mean… well, I have Dune and if Yllowei takes Blitz, then it’s just a nice easy canter through the forest on horseback while Fiyr tries to keep up on his stubby legs._ Despite myself, I feel a smile coming on. _Hmm, actually, I’ve a feeling I’m going to rather enjoy this little walk of ours._

I move into the clearing, trying to keep the guilty expression off my face— _Stay marble stay stone, stay cold and expressionless…_

Yllowei Fennen’s eyes land on me and her fearsome mouth spreads into a terrifying smile. “Hm, hm…” she hums to herself, her hazel eyes glittering like there’s a private joke we’re sharing, and I know instantly that she isn’t fooled by short hair and a tight bandage around my torso. Instinctively, I scratch the front of my tunic, feeling the wrap barely shift under my shirt.

Since turning thirteen, it’s been a constant fight against my own body. At least my cycles haven’t started yet, thank the Starlaxi. Brindellia told me hers started at sixteen, so I’ll be safe for another few years before my facade gains another facet of lies.

I don’t think the queen misses it either, but there’s a gleam in her eyes that assures me she won’t let things crumble for me and I feel reassured.

“Let’s ride,” she announces, and the knights and Yllowei mount their horses, the Shodawes woman hissing uncomfortably as the too-short straps dig into her beaten body.

I can feel Fiyr’s baleful stare on me, but I don’t meet his eyes as the horses’ _clop_ s fade away into the forest.

_Here we go,_ I think, sighing as I mount Dune.


	9. Chapter 8 - Samn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alriiiight, y'all ready to start the shipping game?

Chapter 8 - Samn

_1...2...3...4...5…6...7...8…_

“So who’s this Yllowei Fennen woman?” Fiyr asks in that irritatingly squeaky way he has. He’s trailing behind Dune and I on foot as we head back to the castle.

_Well, that didn’t take long,_ I snort to myself. _Ugh._ I push Dune a little quicker, just to force Fiyr to hurry. _If he’s out of breath, he won’t be so interested in chatting, right?_

“Shodawa’s court healer,” I reply curtly. “She trained as a warrior, but switched later… can’t _imagine_ why she left.”

The sarcasm is obviously lost on Fiyr.

“Where was she planning to go?” he asks, moving even quicker as I push Dune forth.

“The Blacklands if I care,” I reply levelly, still fixing my gaze on the horizon. _I really, really don’t want to talk to this idiot right now…_

Looking at his, listening to him, thinking about him just lends itself as a reminder of the day he came. _Which also happened to be the day…_

And ever since, he’s been an irritating presence everywhere. I’ve done my best to just ignore and continue like he never came to the court, but it’s getting increasingly difficult. _Especially when I don’t want to ignore him… I want… to grind my boot into his stupid freckled face…_

“What happens to members of the court when they leave?” he asks, breathing hard as Dune’s nearly made it into a canter.

“Hire themselves out as mercs or just go full outlander,” I reply, shrugging. _If I just answer his questions, he’ll shut up, right?_

“What’s an outlander?” he asks.

I grit my teeth. “Anybody who lives in the wilderness without a kingdom or _gods_ to keep them in one place.”

“I’ll probably be an outlander when the queen’s done with me,” Fiyr comments morosely. “I mean, the knights tell us nearly every day to leave the training rations alone.”

My nose flares at the suggestion that the queen would be anything less than perfectly fair. “Well, no squire’s perfect, and you’ve well and _truly_ proved that, but the queen’s not cruel. I just hope she gives you severe enough punishment.”

That particular pronouncement is met with Fiyr muttering, “Yeah, I bet you do.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My head jerks around to stare him down. “Watch your mouth.”

“Ever since I got here, you’ve been a stone-cold bi—“ He shrieks suddenly as he goes head-over-heels, tripping on a root, and lands flat on his ass, a smear of mud across the side of his face.

“Smooth move, god-toy,” I snort, but a pang of guilt hits me. I must have sped Dune up to the point where he couldn’t keep up and tripped on something.

“My ankle,” he whines, cradling it in his lap.

“Look I’m sorry, but—c’mon, we have to get back to the castle,” I snap impatiently, trying to cover the waver of worry in my voice. _What if it’s actually broken or something? I haven’t the faintest clue of what to do… Just another situation where Spottalia Lief would probably be more helpful._

“I don’t think I can walk,” he groaned, his voice wobbling like he was on the verge of tears.

_This guy, I swear… Son of a thrice-damned—_

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I hiss. “Listen up, we’re going to have to do this carefully.”

“Do what?” He’s looking up at me now with big tearful green eyes.

_It’s your ankle, not your_ neck _. Blessed Starlaxi…_

“Two-person riding,” I snap, fiercely holding back the red blush threatening to creep up my neck. “Look, it’s more dangerous than you walking, and it’s slower too. So if this whole ankle thing is an act to try to not have to walk, then I suggest you give it up right now.”

He shakes his head, wiping at the dirt on his face with the back of his hand and only smearing it further across his cheek.

I sigh heavily. _Okay, here we go._

“You can stand up, right? It’s your ankle, not your whole leg?” Doesn’t come out quite as aggressive as I was hoping, but I’ll make do.

He nods and raises his hand for help limply. I wrap my thumb around his and grip his wrist, yanking him to his feet. He yelps.

“Alright, listen up,” I say sharply to cover any misgivings. “I’m riding in front to make sure you don’t drive Dune into a tree. You’re going to have to ride bareback, which, the Starlaxi-willing, you’re not a complete failure at too. We’re going to go slowly. _Slowly._ I will be in control of Dune at all times. You can’t try to slow her down or speed her up.”

He nods shakily, his tears drying.

“This takes trust,” I’m practically yelling at him, but I don’t dare let my voice soften lest things get really awkward really fast. “You say that you need to stop, and I’ll stop the horse, okay? I don’t want you ending up yanking us both off!”

Fiyr nods, his eyebrows lifting a little at my aggressive tone, and I take a deep breath.

“I’ll mount first, you go up behind,” I order. “She spooks easy if you graze her legs, so for the love of the Starlaxi just try not to get us both killed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Once his lip-quivering, injured attitude from his trip earlier is gone, his spark’s returning to his voice. And his snark.

I can’t think of a good retort, so I just narrow my eyes at him and curl my lip. Intimidating enough to stop him from doing anything stupid, the Starlaxi-willing…

I mount Dune quickly and deftly, and glance back at him, waiting.

He runs a hand through his bright red hair and coughs uncertainly.

“Well? What are you waiting for, an invitation from the Starlaxi themselves? Get on with it,” I snap.

“Uh, I can’t do it if you’re watching!” He seems to have no qualms about letting me see the full force of his red flush. _Red hair on a red face on red freckles…_

“Well, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t pull the horse down on top of you!” I retort.

Grimacing, he hobbles over to the horse and first tries to swing his uninjured leg over, then realized that he’d need to balance on the other and collapsed like a boneless chicken.

“For the _Starlaxi’s_ sake,” I hiss, unbuckling my straps and swing off Dune to help him. “New plan, I’m helping you up, then I’m getting up there.”

He nodded, blushing all the way down to his stupid twisted ankle.

I don’t want us to have to break this down to an exact science about how this is gonna go, but I also don’t want an awkward handslip… and the result?

“I’m just—okay, well,” I stutter, fluttering my hands in a vague motion. “Put your…”

Somehow deciphering my gibberish, he lays his hands across Dune’s back, and I kneel, letting his step awkwardly onto my thigh and swing his ankle over the horse.

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief and mount quickly in front of Fiyr.

Certainly not thinking about the fact that I can hear his breathing.

I breathe shallowly.

He’s very warm. But I guess that’s to be expected with fire life-force. I slip into the Trace before I can think about it and consider his life-force’s feel, a sharp feel of cinnamon and iron that’s finally begun to override the feel of god magic.

“Hold on.”

…

We make it back to the castle without actual incidents— _other than me being stupid, stupid, stupid—_ and Willowamina Peilte greets me again.

Neither Fiyr or I look at each other as we enter—well, _I_ don’t, so I wouldn’t know and I _certainly_ don’t care—and we make it into the throne room.

Yllowei Fennen is hobbling out of the healer’s wing with a crutch and several bandages hanging off her various limbs.

She staggers, nearly losing balance for a moment and when I see Spottalia Lief rush out behind her to help her, my teeth are set on edge. A bit of a sour smile spreads over my face as Yllowei elbows the seventeen-year-old away.

And Fiyr steps forward, about to go all chivalrous-knight on the Shodawes healer, but I shove a hand of my own out to stop him. “What in Starlaxi’s name?! She’s going to hurt her!”

“She was pushing her away, not skewering her, _relax_ ,” I snap. “So you’re cool with stealing and risking your court position for Fennen, but the second she lays a hand on someone _older_ and _more skilled_ than you that’s perfectly capable of self-defense, you’re suddenly flipping tables?!”  
He glances from Spottalia back to me, green eyes narrowing, but he backs down.

“That’s what I thought,” I snip.

He grits his teeth, eyes flashing.

I’m ready for him to jump me, my hand’s already on the hilt of my sword. In fact, I hope he does. Maybe I can let out some of tension sizzling under my skin, punch him in the jaw, physical contact on my terms instead of the stupid stunt with the horse.

But he relaxes and falls back.

“I don’t know what your problem is, I think we could’ve been friends,” he says, surprisingly candid and sticking out his bottom lip as if daring me to spit in his face.

“God-toy.” The sharp words fly out of my mouth like daggers, because I can tear the wall down whenever I want but it’s going to take time to rebuild it and I need it right now.

Rather than do one of his characteristic whines, he huffs a sarcastic laugh and shakes his head. “Have it your way. Stuck-up jackass.”

As far as I know, it’s the first time he’s sworn. He spits it like he’s been doing it his whole life, but there’s the satisfied flash in his eyes of a newbie.

I’m still considering how much trouble I’d actually get in if I threw an uppercut at his jaw when he turns on his heel and storm away to stand with some of the rest of the court under the raised dais.

_And I’m the stuck-up jackass._

I wait, my hand still clenched on the hilt of Bolt until my breathing slows a little and the adrenaline drains away. For whatever reason, my eyes are still pinned on Fiyr’s retreating back. He’s headed for the kitchen. _Yeah, good luck with that._

No way Queen Bluelianna’s gonna let him eat after his stunt with the training rations.

He seems to think better of it too and pauses, glancing at the throne where the queen’s seated, in more ceremonial wear, but looking no less worn and irritable as Tigre Cawle seems to explain something very tensely to her.

I edge closer until I turn around and seat myself on the edge of a lower level of the dais, close enough to eavesdrop, but facing away from them so as not to attract suspicion. _Don’t mind me, just counting my fingers, like you do._

“...won’t just slice open our throats in our sleep?” Sir Cawle demands tersely.

“Why would she have left Shodawa? Think for a minute,” the queen says, as close to really angry as I’ve heard her. “With the Wynnd situation, the answer’s clear. She may be… _rough_ , but she isn’t cruel. If she left, it wasn’t to play spy. If you’re so scared she’ll tell Shodawa all our secrets, the chances seem equally good that she might tell us a thing or two about Shodawa.”

“B—” Sir Cawle begins, but the queen pushes on.

“Besides which, she’s seen enough now that it would be dangerous to let her go. We’ve a better chance by keeping her here until we know for certain whether she’ll betray us or not. In the meantime, she is a _guest_ , not a prisoner.”

I can’t help myself, I tilt my head to the side to glimpse Tigre pull back, a deep frown etched on his face.

“I don’t like it,” he rumbles.

“You don’t have to,” she says softly, sounding almost amused again, her temper cooling.

The queen rises from her throne, but makes no move to call attention from the court. Instead she moves down the dais, almost floating in the heavy blue ceremonial dress.

“Frostialla Fuor, a word,” she calls out, and the tall white-haired woman nods and draws the queen to the side. “Elves have been spotted in the north forests. Keep the children in the castle until they’ve been dealt with. If they’re playing in the gardens, make sure there’s always a mother to make sure they’re safe. A mother with a sword, mind you.”

Frostialla chuckles, a slightly surprisingly unladylike sound and nods. “Don’t worry Bluelia, I’ll make sure they’re safe. You can trust me and _Frostfur_.”

The queen gives her an approving nod and surprisingly informal grin. “I don’t doubt it.” For whatever reason, the queen rubs her forearm and the white-haired woman shakes her head with another laugh. As Frostialla Fuor curtsies to the queen, Queen Bluelianna turns and heads for the kitchen.

My stomach rumbling, I follow her and find Ravne on duty. He looks much more laid-back now that he’s not in a forest filled with danger with an equally dangerous knight shouting abuse at him… _Well, I suppose anybody would be._

The queen asks for whatever they’ve been cooking up today, and I copy her, but request a helping of Graie’s strawberry cobbler from yesterday for desert. What can I say? He’s annoying as a mosquito, but the guy can _bake_.

I stand there awkwardly, preferring silence to having to exchange courtesies with the queen. A moment later, Fiyr arrives, and with an awkward glance at Bluelianna Star, asks for the same as both of us.

The three plates arrive at the same time, as does Tigre Cawle, looking even _more_ sour if it was possible.

“Not for you Fiyr, you can bring your share to the elders,” the knight growled and the ginger-haired squire sighed heavily and takes his plate of steaming food away. Tigre outlines his meal to Ravne with a peculiarly intense stare at his squire.

Silently, without looking at either the queen or Sir Cawle, I pick up my plate and move to the dining room. It’s a wide, open hall, the second largest room after the throne room, expansive floor space covered in banquet tables with benches and aisles between each. It hasn’t been properly full in awhile, though.

After the loss to Rivier, morale’s been low and every celebration of the season’s passing has been lackluster because of it. The solstices have come and gone without comment, just a somber reminder than King Braukkiniaum Star’s grip tightens over the Shodawes kingdom.

With that thought, I turn on my heel and take my plate to my nook in the squire’s wing and sit on my bed, devouring the generous slice of venison and heap of mashed potatoes. We won’t have asparagus for another season so for now it’s boiled broccoli, but I don’t really care.

I’ve drawn the curtains around my meager living space, sitting cross-legged on my bed, so I don’t see Graie and Fiyr come in, but I hear them. Or more specifically, I hear Fiyr’s stomach rumbling.

“Has she given you a punishment yet?” Graie asks, then a springy noise like he’s just sat heavily on his bed.

“No, but no dinner’s pretty much punishment enough,” Fiyr whines.

“Weeeell, that doesn’t seem right,” Graie says and I can practically hear the frown in his voice. “Are you sure? I mean, eating’s pretty important, but just skipping a meal doesn’t seem right for actually stealing and... potential treason.”

“Sorry, _treason_?!” Fiyr demands.

“Well, I mean, I don’t think you _actually_ committed treason,” Graie assures him. “But I mean… a newcomer suddenly feeding a dangerous person from another kingdom… it just looks real bad.”

Fiyr sighs.

“I get that. I just… ugh, I wish I could explain,” he says, sighing again.

_Explain away you stealing and eating when you_ totally _could’ve waited until dinner…?_ I think, then my prayers are answered when Graie retorts.

“Explain you eating training rations?” His tone’s like a chiding mother hen. “C’mon, Fiyr, I understand feeding Yllowei Fennen ‘cuz she was starving and like… falling apart… but you really didn’t need to eat it.”

“I knooow,” Fiyr groans, and there’s a muffled sound like he’s slapping his hands over his head. “Gah. What a mess, I don’t know what I was thinking, but it just really sucks that a tiny lapse in judgement is about to like… get me thrown out of the kingdom.”

“I’m sure it won’t,” Graie says sympathetically. “It was stupid, _real_ stupid, but you have to do something pretty bad to get exiled, and a bit of stealing while you’re still a kid doesn’t count.”

“I hope so,” Fiyr moans, not sounding convinced.

Suddenly, Queen Bluelianna Star’s voice echoes through the squire’s wing, calling us to a court meeting in the throne room.

I freeze, waiting until I hear Graie and Fiyr’s retreating steps before I actually hop to my feet and follow behind, far enough that they won’t hear.

“Knights and squires of Thundria,” the queen declares, her voice resonating through the crowded room. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we have an addition to our court. We have taken the Shodawes court healer, Yllowei Fennen, and she will be staying at the castle until further notice.”

With the hand not holding her sceptre, she motions towards Yllowei Fennen, who’s seated awkwardly a few levels down the dais cradling her bandaged arm.

A murmur starts in the court, but the queen silences us all with a flash of her hand, before continuing, “Reports from patrolling by the solstice pavilion announce that there is no sign of life anywhere on the Wynnd moors. There is no sign of a war, but traces of Shodawa all across the territory.”

Whatever interest in the news about Yllowei Fennen immediately evaporates at the new development.

“Wynnd gone?”

“But no battle…”

“Hundreds of people, just… gone?”  
“Shodawes rats, for sure!”  
“They drove Wynnd out of house and home!”

“Silence!” The queen’s sceptre collides with the stone platform with a resounding crack. Mouths snap shut immediately. “King Braukkiniaum Star—” Jeers break out in the court, but the queen silences them with an icy stare, “—seemed to have no ulterior motive when he took the throne. I cannot fathom why he would be after the Wynnd kingdom like this.”

Duss, next to me, tenses. “I can think of a couple. How about that he’s a scummy Shodawes low-life and his hunger for power is driving him to new extremes?”  
“Until then, all patrols, be they hunting or border-guarding, must contain at least two full-grown knights and no less than four members,” the queen announces, her shadowed gaze sweeping across the court. “Hunting patrols will stay close to the castle; border-guarding will increase in frequency, and _no child_ will leave the castle until this is resolved. Do I make myself clear?”

Worried glances are exchanged all across the court, but everyone nods.

_Until it’s resolved? If the problem’s Braukkiniaum Star, I don’t think it_ can _be resolved, until he’s dead…_ I think privately, but bob my head in agreement.

“Our squires will be working harder than ever to usher in a new generation of strong knights,” the queen declares, her eyes landing on me and Duss, “and to aid in that endeavour, I have decided to change the situation of mentors to try to better optimize each squire’s abilities to their teacher. Therefore, until the end of their training or further changes, the squire and mentor match-ups will be as follows.

“Fiyr will be training exclusively with Sir Tigre Cawle. Ravne will be taught by Sir Whit Strommer. Duss will continue his squirehood under Sir Darriek Styrp, as will Graie with Sir Liyon Hartef,” the queen announced, then her blue gaze swivelled down to me, a strange warmth that I hadn’t seen there before glimmering in her azure depths. “And I will take the responsibilities of training Samn upon myself.”

I think I inhale every millimetre of air in the room. Relief at Ravne no longer having to put up with Sir Cawle’s… abrasiveness is immediately swept away under the all-consuming thought of _Sweet Starlaxi the queen wants to train me…_ _I mean, I suppose it isn’t that strange; monarchs often train the children of captains_ —the ever present needle of pain pushes a little deeper into my heart— _but still, I thought that chance was blown for me when I was apprenticed to Sir Strommer. Being squired to the queen’s nephew is nothing compared to Queen Bluelianna Star herself!_

I resist squealing and instead just let a smug smile spread over my face. Duss’s gonna blow a gasket.

I see a glimmer of nervousness on Fiyr’s face, but it’s replaced with a resolute determination. I wager that he could put up with Sir Cawle better than Ravne.

“And Fiyr’s punishment?” the burly knight who is now supposedly going to mentor him questions.

_Being made squire to him is plenty punishment, if you ask me,_ I think with a wry smile.

“I’m getting to that,” the queen says quellingly. “As Yllowei Fennen is badly injured and will require constant care, Fiyr will be taking care of her every need.”

“Pah! Sucker,” Duss bursts out with a mean little laugh. Despite myself, I join in. Fiyr’s been irritating and I’ll be glad to see him have to deal with that old prickly bag of bones.

“Quiet!” the queen suddenly snaps, and I deflate like a popped balloon, embarrassed, and shrink away. “There’s no shame in caring for someone that can’t care for themselves.”

The throne room is quiet and my face is burning with the heat of all the stares on Duss and I.

“That will be all. Dismissed,” the queen says, waving her hand and stepping down the levels of the dais, helping Yllowei up on her way by. I’m still hot with shame from the reprimand I can’t help but glaring at Duss, even though it’s not his fault that I joined in.

The old woman grunts in pain as she stands, and Fiyr hurries over to help her. The last thing I hear before ducking into the squire’s wing is Liang Teyl’s scornful voice.

“Try not to pick up too many more stray outlanders,” he sneers. “Outsiders always bring trouble.”

Despite myself, I feel a stab of defensiveness on Fiyr’s part as his face flushes with red anger.


	10. Chapter 9 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a beast of a chapter, but Yellowfang has landed! Enjoy!

Chapter 9 - Fiyr

“She’s looking a bit angry today,” Graie teases.

I suck air through my teeth. “A bit angry? Well, that’s less angry than usual…”

“Ah, no, she’s the angriest I’ve ever seen her,” he clarifies, laughing as he runs a hand through his fluffy gray hair.

“Wish me luck,” I groan.

“You’ll bloody well need it,” he snorts, then nudges me. “Well, don’t worry. I know where we keep the frying pans; if things start to look bad, I’ll whack her.”

The mental image draws a giggle from me, but as the real prospect of tending to this irritable, potentially dangerous woman sinks in, I sober. “Ugh. I almost wish that Sir _Cawle_ gave me a punishment instead. Blessed Starlaxi, this is a right mess. At least I won’t have to train with Sir Cawle until I’m done with Yllowei Fennen. I’m not really looking forward to it.”

“Forward to taking care of Lady Fennen or to training with Tigre Cawle?” Graie chuckles. “Well, don’t worry too much about Sir Cawle, he’s just… intimidating. I’m sure that once he warms up to you a little, he’ll be as good a mentor as any.”  
The thought makes me smile hopefully. After the altercation over the state of the kingdoms by the Rivien border, I thought I’d made an enemy of potentially the scariest man I’d ever met. Winning his respect will be a challenge indeed, but I’ll work hard.

“Come on, go help out Lady Fennen, she looks like she’s getting angrier by the minute,” Graie whispers, nudging me.

We’ve been sitting in the squire’s wing’s common room in full view of the throne room where Yllowei Fennen’s been sitting, scowling for the past five or so minutes.

“Yeesh, alright, get the frying pan ready,” I joke, standing and putting the plate on the table that we’d been sitting at. “Bring my plate back for me?”

“Sure thing, I’m headed to the kitchen anyway,” he replies with a wink.

My smile at that fades as I head over to Yllowei, who directs the full force of her scowl on me. I freeze, and she curls her lip.

“A god-toy, really? The best Thundria can do?”

“I’m just following the queen’s orders,” I tell her, trying to keep my tone level. I’ve heard worse from those whose opinions actually matter.

“But you _are_ a god-toy, hmm?” There’s a suspicious glint in her hazel eyes that I don’t like.

“I used to work for gods, yes,” I grind out, my hands drifting up to cross defensively in front of me.

“Your mother was a god-toy, and your father too?” she challenges.

“Yes they were,” I snap off defiantly, resisting the urge to step forwards and loom over her. “What about it? If you have something to say, then say it.”

“The blood of a god-toy couldn’t compare to the blood of a true knight,” Yllowei scoffs, her flattened nose flaring at she looks scornfully at me. “To think I’m being fussed over by such _trash_.”

Something snaps inside me.

“You’d feel humiliated if I were courtborn!” I stab a finger toward her, spitting mad. “You’d feel humiliated if it was Queen Bluelianna Star herself, or a precious knight from your own damn kingdom, or a _dragon_ that dragged you back to its cave! It’s the fact that you have to rely on anyone else that you’re _so_ upset by! But you’re just going to have to suck it up until you can take care of yourself, you tough old _biscuit_!”

My rant breaks off as I shout the last word in her face, then realize I’m breathing hard and my finger is jabbing at her chest. Face flushed, I straighten and take a step back and open my mouth to apologize.

Her cloak’s hood falls right over her face and her shoulders shake as she convulses. She’s bent over forwards and making a wheezing sound that makes me scared.

_Blessed Starlaxi, I didn’t give her a heart attack or something did I? Is she dying?!_ I wonder, starting to panic. _Should I call for Spottalia?  
_“I—I’m sorry!” I exclaim, but I suddenly realize that it’s not a heart attack.

She’s choking on her own laughter, and as the hood drops back again I see that there are tears streaking down her lined face.

“Ah! So there is a little bit of fighting spirit in this god-toy after all,” she crows, snapping her fingers triumphantly. “Well, don’t just stand there boy, go find the little girl you call a healer and get some goldenrod and poppy seeds from her before I bust a lung!”

Still a little jarred from the odd encounter, I flee, relieved to have an excuse to visit the healer’s wing.

“Good morning Fiyr,” Spottalia Lief greets me the moment I walk in, looking up from her meticulous note-taking. The sound of her voice relaxes me immediately.

“Morning. I’ve come from Yllowei Fennen with a request for goldenrod and poppy seeds,” I explain.

She bobs her head and stands, her dress and apron swinging out as she hurries to the wall of the healer’s wing with the precisely labelled herbs in carefully arranged jars. “Just wait a second, and take some marigold too.”

Spottalia wraps them in a small wax paper bundle and carries them back over to me. “Tell Lady Fennen to go easy on the poppy seeds. I don’t want her to dull the pain so much that I can’t judge her condition.”

“Sure. Thank you!” I give her an awkward little bow.

She smiles brightly, and turns to go back to her desk. I glance down at the wax paper in my hands for a moment and breathe out, peace washing over me. The healer’s wing is really nice, softly lit and clean. Spottalia reminds me a bit of Prin, too, although less… aggressive. I snap myself out of it after a moment and turn on my heel to leave the wing.

As I cross the throne room, I catch Sir Cawle giving me an intense stare out of the corner of my eye. _Yikes. Don’t know what I did this time, but the Starlaxi willing, he won’t come over and yell at me._

I make it to Yllowei without interruption and I pass her the herb packet.

“Spottalia says go easy on—”

“The poppy seeds, yes, yes, I know,” she grumbles, standing up with a yelp of pain and leaning on my shoulder with dignity as she heads to the kitchen to find a glass of water to wash down the herbs with. “Blessed Starlaxi, what a world where children presume their elders must be doddering old fools with no more wits than a rabbit.”

She continues a semi-serious lecture to the Starlaxi-knows-who about the importance of respect for your superiors as we hobble to the kitchen together. I’m starting to think this punishment might not be entirely unbearable.

I hurry into the kitchen and get a glass of water from Mauzian Fyrra who gives me a knowing and pitying look.

“And not even taking into account that we have decades worth of—” Yllowei adds, then chews up the marigold and goldenrod at the same time and pops in the poppy seeds before downing the entire water glass in one go. She continues her rant without missing a beat, “—tradition despite their mother’s milk being scarce out of them. Ridiculous, really. It’s _them_ being the foolish ones to make that kind of—”

“Is there anything else you need?” I interrupt, hoping there’s a chance in the Blacklands that I might actually have a minute to myself today.

“I’ll be in the healer’s wing, bring me something to eat,” she directs sourly. “Nothing that flies or has a face, mind you. I bloody well warrant you that you Thundrians rather enjoy flaunting your superiority over all other species that—”

I tune out the rest of her newest lecture as I turn to head back into the kitchens.

“A plate of today’s lunch without the meat,” I request, leaning over the counter and poking my head in to direct it at Mauzian.

“I should think so, the meat’s not ready yet,” she sniffs, and I lean back out to avoid any further tongue-lashings by the sharpest lady in the court.

I wonder if her parents didn’t have a line to Old-Thundria. Mauzian is clearly drawn from ‘mouse’; not exactly the most aggressive or flamboyant of names. Maybe her parents were just a little more reserved. She doesn’t have mouse-summoning, I know that, so that wouldn’t explain the name.

My perusings are cut short when a plate of meat-less food is slammed down on the counter in front of me. “Thank you!” I’m pretty sure it’s ignored.

Shrugging, I take hold of the plate and snag a couple of utensils on my way out for Yllowei.

As I make it into the healer’s wing, Spottalia Lief glances back up from her work to give me a shy smile. I catch a glimpse of the papers on the desk in front of her, and ‘Fiyr’ is written a couple times over. I stare at it for a second, then look away, dismissing it as nothing.

I bring the plate to Yllowei Fennen who is lounging on one of the cots like she owns the wing and trying to pick out the snarls in her mane of silvery-gray hair.

“Please take longer next time,” she says, dry enough to make all of Rivier’s territory evaporate. “I don’t think my bones have had a chance to fossilize yet.”

“Oh, for the Starlaxi’s sake stop whining and eat,” I tell her, taking on a reprimanding and patronizing tone of my own.

She gets a raspy laugh out of that. “ _Bon appetit._ ”

“Huh?”

“Old Shodawes saying,” she says, waving her hand dismissively as she starts wolfing down the food like it’s the last meal she’ll have for a week. A chunk of boiled potato splats on the floor as she devours it. _Great. It’ll probably be me cleaning that up._ “Leave me now, I don’t think I’ll erode if you go off and take some time for yourself for a minute.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and dip into an awkward bow before scurrying away. _Thank the Starlaxi!_

…

Nearly a week later, I pull open the curtains of each squire’s nook. Duss and Samn have gone out for early morning patrol and I was sent by Sir Strommer and Sir Hartef to wake up Graie and Ravne.

I pull Ravne’s heavy muslin curtain aside first and scan his living space instinctively. He has a little rock collection on the same bedside table that’s in every squire’s nook and it looks like he’s part way through a wood carving of a bird. Feeling like I’m intruding, I walk over to his bed and reach to shake him awake.

The second my hand makes contact with his shoulder, he starts writhing like an eel, and his arm shoots out to scramble around on his bedside table for a long hunting knife that rests on it.

“Relax, relax!” I exclaim, jumping away to avoid an untimely death. “It’s Fiyr! The knights sent me to wake you up.”

Ravne’s breathing hard, his silky black hair rumpled and sticking out and his blue eyes wide and scared. “Oh. Oh, okay.”

Shaking my head, I head for Graie’s nook, next to mine, hoping he’s not also going to try to stab me. _What’s with him? So jumpy all the time._

“Graie! Morning!” I shout to announce my arrival as I yank the curtain aside.

“Mreeeagheaermgh,” an unholy groan rises from the lump of sheets that ostensibly hide Thundria’s gray-haired squire. “Don’t wanna. Sleep more.”

“Don’t go back to sleep!” I shout, stepping into his nook, and the lump rolls onto the other side of the bed.

“Mghrh.”

Annnd he’s asleep again.

“Hey! Up you get! Time for training,” I say, reaching for the lump.

It seems to sense my approach and rolls further away.

Unfortunately, the small single beds of Thundria’s squires are not large enough to accommodate Graie’s urgent need to escape my hand.With a thunk, Graie rolls off the bed in his sheet cocoon and is deposited onto the thin rug of his nook.

“Ouch.”

“Just get up, Lady Faise made another pot of coffee,” I coax.

“Donwancoffee,” he groans.

I roll my eyes. “Come on, it’s time to go. Sir Hartef’s gonna fillet you if you’re late to training again.”

“Iz my birthday tomorrow,” Graie volunteers, his voice muffled. _Is he sleep-talking?_

“If you want to be alive to celebrate it, I suggest getting your butt down to the throne room,” I say sweetly, picking up a heavy book of ‘Old Thundria’s Landmarks and Notable Villages’—I don’t think I could come up with a more sleep-inducing title if I tried—from his bedside table and drop it onto the stone floor with a resounding _crack_!

Graie yelps.

I turn on my heel and leave the squire’s wing, confident that my intrusion has sufficiently awoken Graie, much to the latter’s displeasure.

Pausing on my way across the throne room, I redirect my steps towards the dining hall. _I might take Graie’s cup of coffee instead…_ I don’t exactly _like_ the bitter taste per se, but I saw Tigre Cawle drinking it and I’m trying to win his favour, so indulging in a drink he likes too might be the way to go. Hey, it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had.

I’m sure Sir Hartef and Sir Strommer don’t need me to tell them exactly when their squires will make it out of their nooks, and I really should check on Yllowei, so I direct my steps toward the healer’s wing.

The route _to_ the healer’s wing is next to the dining hall, which is bad news for me because jerks one and two are lounging at a table, finishing their breakfasts. _Great. Back from patrol. Awesome._

“No breakfast today?” Duss jeers. How does he make such an inconspicuous comment sound rude? Truly a talent.

“I ate earlier,” I say levelly. _They’ll let it go if I just ignore them._

“And yet you weren’t training with us…” Samn observes, apparently entranced by swirling his fork around his runny egg remains.

“I guess Queen Bluelianna thinks god-toys are better off tending to old, sick people,” Duss says, shrugging with a smirk.

_Don’t give them a reaction. They’ll get sick of it eventually._ But I’m starting to wonder how true that is. They’ve kept it up for years now, showing no sign of boredom…

Shaking it off and shooting the two of them a last dirty look, I duck into the healer’s wing, smelling the familiar herbal scents, and find Yllowei Fennen sitting up in her cot, scowling as usual.

“Good morning.”

“I hate mornings,” she snaps.

_Truly a shock,_ I think dryly. “I’ll get you some breakfast. Eggs and sausage!”

Yllowei curls her lip. “I don’t eat eggs or sausages. Go into a village and get me some actual food.”

“Uh… anything specific?”

“Bread, peanut butter, some fruit preserves,” she rattles off, looking sour but very silly wrapped in her blanket-burrito.

_Alright, no problem, you’re welcome. I swear,_ any _other day we’d have bread and peanut butter..._

When I walk back into the dining hall, Graie and Ravne have made it in. I suppress a snort when I see that Graie’s wrapped up in his sheet still.

“Graie, you can’t take the bed with you,” Ravne teases.

“Watch me,” he grumbles, stuffing a whole breakfast sausage into his mouth. Grease runs down his chin. I make a face.

“What’re you guys doing today?” I ask, delaying my errand-running for Yllowei.

“Wilderness survival,” Graie groans. “Also known as jumping around trees and trying not to break my Starlaxi-damned neck.”

“Had that last week,” Ravne supplies through a mouthful of egg. “I’m studying Old Thundrian— _mátame ahora_.”

Graie laughs. I awkwardly turn to Samn and Duss.

“Battle training,” Samn says, looking like he’s suppressing a smirk. He doesn’t look at Duss, but just announcing it provokes the reaction he was obviously looking for immediately.

“Battle losing,” Duss snaps in way of a clever retort.

“Yes, you are,” Samn agrees without missing a beat, picking up his mugful of black coffee and downing it in one go.

“Bloody ambidex,” he mutters, throwing in a few more choice expletives at his plate.

Ignoring their banter, I turn back to Graie hopefully. “Are you going to be near any towns? I’ve gotta run an errand for Yllowei.”

Graie blinks. “Oh, nice, I’m going to the Southeast Cirrus encampment for a supply run after wilderness, you can come too!”

“Great.” _More work, whoopee._ But it’ll be better if I go with Graie at least. I wasn’t looking forward to a half-hour horse ride alone.

We head out right after breakfast, much to my stomach’s disagreement, and ride into the territory with Liyon Hartef.

“So Fiyr,” the knight begins. “How’s Yllowei Fennen doing?”

It’s a loaded question that I’ve been asked a lot recently. Knights usually are more interested in knowing if they’re going to have to hunt her down in the middle of the night or publically execute her for treason to her adopted kingdom.

“No worse,” I reply automatically.

The blond man cocks an eyebrow without glancing away from the road ahead. “I see. She seems to have made herself… comfortable.”

“You’d know better than me.” Another diplomatic answer for those higher-ranking than me, which is almost everyone. When Duss or Samn get too nosy, I just ignore them.

For whatever reason, Sir Hartef gets a laugh out of this. “We should have you deliver reports at the Gatherings. A born politician if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Thank you, sir…” Not really sure what to say to that. I think it’s a compliment.

The rest of the ride proceeds in comfortable silence. I take Graie’s supply list and head into Cirrus while Sir Hartef and Graie start training.

An hour of running around shop and explaining who I am and what I want later, Blitz is saddled with several bags of general goods—new clothes, steel and leather, a few panes of glass, and lots of food, plus Yllowei’s precious fruit preserves. The townspeople have a tone of disinterested respect as they address me but I’ll take it over the scorn a few of the members of the court any day. I ride back to where Sir Hartef and Graie left me.

“Let’s head back,” Sir Hartef suggests, eyeing his profusely sweating squire.

I awkwardly hand a couple of bags over to the two of them, trying not to breathe through my nose next to Graie, and we ride back to the castle.

Graie and I deliver the bags to Brindellia Faise in the kitchen and I set about making Yllowei’s toast.

When I bring the plate to the healer’s wing, Yllowei Fennen is nowhere to be found. Spottalia Lief looks up from her work and smiles at me.

“She went to sit in the garden,” she answers despite me not having asked it yet.

“Okay, thank you!” I return the smile.

“It’s very kind of you to cater to her needs that way.” Spottalia nods at the plate. “I don’t know how long I could handle her.”

I laugh. “Well, it is a punishment. But she seems like she’s been through a lot and I respect her, you know? Don’t let her hear me say it, though.”

Spottalia smiles and puts a finger to her lips.

I hurry out the front doors of the castle and out onto the stone plaza where beds of flowers grow with wild abandon. Yllowei’s sitting on a marble bench that’s cracking with small green sprigs protruding from it, looking lost in thought. A couple of kids are playing with sticks across from her, and from the sounds of their shouts, it’s some kind of pretend-invasion.

“At last,” she grunts, coming back from whatever reverie she was in and glaring at me, before snatching the plate out of my hands. “My belly’s been rumbling terribly.”

“Enjoy, I guess,” I mutter, my nose flaring at her abject ungratefulness.

Half the sandwich is already crammed in her mouth.

I stand awkwardly, waiting as she consumes the food with startling speed. Eventually, as she wipes the last smear of peanut butter from her mouth, she looks back up at me with an expression of surprise.

“Well, don’t just stand there, help me change the bandages on my leg!”

“Bu—you—uh—” My frustrated stammering is cut off at her raised eyebrow. “Okay, put it up on the bench, I’ll help you.”

She snorts and lifts her bandaged leg up comically slowly. The queen gave her some spare travel clothing, appropriately, a heavy black cloak and loose trousers. Her intimidating appearance looks wildly out of place on the peaceful plaza set against the backdrop of the bright blue sky with its fluffy white clouds.

As I’m helping her tighten the clean bandages, the children’s shouts and cries get closer as two chase each other over to us. One tries to hide behind the bench where Yllowei’s seated.

I feel the muscles in her legs tense abruptly, like she’s getting ready to run, and her head snaps around to face the child.

“Get away from me!” she spits, baring her disgusting teeth.

The little girl jumps up and runs away, eyes wide.

“Well _that_ was uncalled for!” I reprimand, looking over at the kid she scared and giving her a reassuring smile, then turn back to Yllowei with a frown. “What in the Starlaxi’s name was that for?”

“She shouldn’t have been so close,” Yllowei snaps.

I frown. “All kids play. You could’ve been nicer about it.”

“Just keep them away from me,” she hisses and looks back at her plate, breathing strangely heavily for some reason.

I cock my head, suddenly realizing a possibility. “Did you have kids? You were a knight before you were a healer, right?”

Her knuckles go white on the edge of the bench. “No. I have no children.”

“Oookay, just asking,” I mutter, irritated by how outraged she gets when I ask simple questions.

“Bad things happen to them when I’m around them,” she mutters, and I stare out across the plaza.

_What does she mean?_

“Go get more bandages, boy,” she snaps suddenly, looking ferociously protective of whatever secrets I was nearly privy to.

“Alright, alright, no need to shout,” I grumble, standing up with my hands up defensively.

“Just hurry,” she mutters, looking out across the trees with a pained expression that I very much doubt is a product of her injured leg.

Sighing, I head back into the castle and announce myself as I knock.

“Enter,” Speikell Tiall says gruffly through the door and I push it open warily. She sheathes her sword.

I glance around the throne room, a little surprised by all the activity. It’s usually fairly quiet during the day, most knights out patrolling.

“Preparing for an attack,” Speikell mutters in answer to my questioning glance, taking her post at the door back. “These days, nobody’s gonna trust Shodawa not to try somethin’ sneaky.”

From my limited encounters with the shadow-kingdom, sneaky is the _only_ way they do things, but I choose not to engage with Speikell about the various facts and stereotypes of the kingdoms.

Sir Cawle’s standing by the massive array of weaponry that’s been transported into the throne room for a reason that quickly becomes obvious when he raises a dagger.

I’m transfixed as a soft amber glow emanates from his spread palm and the dagger suddenly glints brighter, almost imperceptibly.

The knight drops it carefully and moves to the next weapon, taking a deep breath. Willowamina picks up the same dagger and waves her own hand over it. A pale gray wisp of what almost looks like smoke drifts across it, and the steel surface smoothes, looking as shiny as the day it was forged.

Everyone’s using their various skills, life-force based or otherwise, preparing for battle.

A little shaken by everyone’s conviction that bloody warfare is days away, I hurry into the healer’s wing to find Spottalia Lief seated on the stone floor, with hundreds of jars of salves and leaves spread around her.

She’s locked in what appears to be either prayer or meditation, or possibly a combination, and electric green magic is radiating off her in misty waves. The force of it nearly pushes me back. It looks like the gods’ tapestry of the aurora borealis of the snowlands. _She’s so strong. Is this what healers can achieve?_

Her breathing is slow, and out of curiosity, I slide into the fifth dimension to observe her. In the murky Trace, the herbs and salves spread out before her are flashing intermittently with green light, lit from within somehow. She blinks an eye open and the flashing of the medicine slows slightly as she points to a shelf where rolls of bandages are stacked. Next to it is a little pot of off-white cream.

Continuing her meditation, she suddenly begins to speak, but speaking so directly to me that I feel her voice more than I hear it. _Is this what a voice sounds like in the Trace? Or is she doing some kind of life-force trick?_ I’m frozen as I listen to her words.

_Apply it carefully; LadyFennen knows not to touch it. You must wash your hands meticulously in a clean stream afterwards, unsullied by metal or human interference._

Startled, I nod and pick up a roll of bandage and the pot of cream, and hurry out of the healer’s wing. Unconsciously slipping out of the fifth dimension, I glance backwards to see that Spottalia’s still peacefully seated, arms semi-extended in front of her with palms upturned in offering.

Thoroughly creeped out, I hurry back out of the castle.

After Yllowei Fennen’s snap, the children have been playing more quietly and further across the plaza. Lady Fennen herself is dozing on the bench, awkwardly hunched in the sunlight.

“I brought you more bandages,” I announce loudly to awaken her from a safe distance away.

As predicted, one hand flies out to try to bat away whoever interrupted her impromptu nap. I don’t even bother backing up.

“Gah, bring them over here, then,” she grunts.

Suppressing a snort of amusement, I kneel in front of her and start unwrapping the old bandages that are slightly damp with some kind of bodily fluid that I’m emphatically _not_ interested in studying any closer than necessary.

Once I’m done, I hold up the pot of cream that Spottalia’s… thing… told me to bring to Yllowei.

“Huh, so the healer-child actually seems to have picked up something from old Fiythar Vhiskar then…” Yllowei Fennen muses with a croaky laugh. “Interesting. Well, you’ll be applying it, boy. I’m in no position to go hunting for a stream.”

“Is it corrosive?” I ask, studying the salve curiously and a little warily.

She gets another laugh out of that. “It’s to clear dead skin. It won’t… hurt you… but how attached are you to your fingernails?”

I raise a single eyebrow.

“Just hurry up and put it on; you have a good hour afterwards to find a place to wash your hands before it’ll actually do any damage,” she says with a snort.

Grimacing, I dip a finger in and start gingerly spreading it on her wound.

With a yelp, she slaps my hand away.

“What?!” I demand, yanking my hand away.

“On the bandage, foolish boy!” Yllowei says incredulously. “Have you got goose feathers for brains?

I choose not to answer and start spreading it on the bandages.

Once she’s satisfied with my work, she shoos me. “I can put the bandages on, I’m old, not dead. Go save your precious fingernails.”

Pursing my lips, I hold my hand out a safe distance from the rest of my body and pick up her dirty bandages to throw out at the castle.

I’m pushing open the castle doors again when Heff Tyle nearly crashes into me. The one-armed elder reels back, and I put a hand on his stumpy shoulder to steady him.

“Oof!” he gasps, his hand going to his stomach as he regains his breath. “Careful there, Fiyr, no need to hurry.”

“My fingernails,” I explain. Heff Tyle’s eyebrows raise. “Uh, I mean, I only have an hour to save my fingernails.”

He opens and then closes his mouth. “Well, if you get a chance, you might hunt a little while you’re out.”

“Yessir,” I agree, hurrying past him to throw out the used bandages before I accidentally start more rumours about the crazy ex-god-toy of Thundria.

...

I’ve only made it about five minutes out of the castle’s ground before I suddenly instinctively switch to the Trace and sense Ravne and Graie close by. Following their trail, I soon come upon them setting up hunting traps in a clearing. At the sound of footsteps both of them whirl around, swords drawn.

“Hey, hey, relax, it’s me,” I exclaim, hands out in front of me.

“G—g—give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you,” Ravne mutters, turning back to the traps.

“Waiting for an ambush, are you?” I cock my head.

“Nothing’s out of the question,” Graie mutters, uncharacteristically somber. “Can’t put anything past those Shodawes rats.”

“Rough times,” I mumble, more to myself than anyone else, but Ravne hums in agreement, clicking what I recognize as a rabbit trap into place.

I find a stream nearby by the sound of running water and save my poor fingernails while Ravne and Graie set up the last of their traps.

“Want to help us bring it all back?” Graie asks hopefully, then smirks. “You can take partial credit, c’mon…”

“Alright,” I snicker. “You’ve convinced me.”

Ravne gives me a bright smile that are rarer and rarer these days. What’s been biting at him in the last few months, I haven’t a clue, but whatever it is has made his grins few and far between.

We head back along the trail that Graie and Ravne have mapped out, hitting each checkpoint along the way.

“Hey, why don’t you head back with what we have so far, and we’ll collect the rest?” Graie suggests.

“Sure,” I agree, shrugging. “You sure you can handle it?”

Graie looks pointedly at my enormous haul. “You sure _you_ can handle it?”

I laugh and flex, my pitiful twig-arms stringy, but up to the task. Graie snorts. “Yeah, real hunk of muscle you are.”

This sets off Ravne as well, a little loudly. I join in, then give them a joking salute. “Alright, I’m out. Good luck with the rest.”

On the trek back to the castle, it registers that Graie was obviously trying to get rid of me, no matter how smoothly he did it. _Damn, he’s good. I wonder what they were talking about before I showed up._

Whatever. They can have their private moment. Not my business. Probably. I mean, they’re not talking about _me._ Obviously. Well, probably. I mean, anything’s possible. But like… probably not.

I think.

Shaking my head at myself, I hurry up and reach the castle even quicker than when my fingernails were at stake.

“Fiyr!” I call out to announce myself. “I bring meat!”

Speikell ushers me in, frowning at the various corpses I have slung over my shoulder and back. “Get those to the kitchen quickly, you’re dripping on the floor.”

“Well done!” Sir Hartef exclaims as I head to the kitchens. “That’s an impressive haul!”

“It was really Graie and Ravne,” I admit with the most shrug-like gesture I can manage under the weight of rabbits. “I’m just the pack-mule.”

“Credits to the pack-mule, then,” the knight says, undeterred, and going to clap me on the shoulder and obviously thinking better of it.

I snort but smile and stagger my way to the kitchens where Samn, with a usual scowl, helps me unload the kills. He seems undeterred by the wide red slashes in some of the creatures, whereas the mere sight makes my stomach turn.

“Ravne and Graie’s?” he asks without pausing stripping the corpses off me.

“Yeah,” I mutter grudgingly.

“Figures; god-toy wouldn’t catch this much.”

“You knew I was tending to Yllowei and not hunting, don’t pretend your superior knight intuition figured it out,” I snap, at my patience’s end with this pretentious jerk.

“Yeah, I did,” he concedes with a little laugh. “Good job on your superior walking skills in bringing it back to the castle though, don’t know what Thundria would do without you.”

“You’ve just got twisted trousers because you heard Sir Liyon praise me,” I counter.

“Yeah.” He laughs again. I frown.

He’s being weirdly friendly, if you could call it that. Catches me off guard a little, but I’ll take anything other than outright hostility, especially from him.

The conversation falters.

“Well, uh, I’ll just… go then,” I mutter, excusing myself. _Supremely smooth, the king of elocution coming right down the castle’s hallways at this very moment._

Well _that_ was weird.

I’m sitting in the throne room, sharpening my hunting knife give a lump of flint when Graie and Ravne walk out of the kitchens, looking smug as cats, uniforms streaked in blood.

I look up, surprised. “Didn’t even see you come in!”

“We had to go in the back with all of our catches,” Graie brags subtly. “Sir Strommer and Sir Cawle needed to help us unload all of it.”

“There was a lot,” Ravne says, looking as close to gloating as I’ve ever seen him.

“Squeeze a compliment out of ol’ Tiggy,” Graie snorts, elbowing Ravne companionably, who promptly blushes.

“Well…”

My jaw drops. _If Ravne didn’t immediately deny it, then it must be true._ “What did you do, sprout wings and fly?”

“I can’t trait yet,” Ravne says shrugging.

Almost unconsciously, after it being drilled into me from my early training days, the definition rattles off in my mind. _Traiting; the process of using one’s life-force to take on physical characteristics or aspects of one’s life-force._

And since Ravne has raven life-force, if he trains enough he will actually be able to sprout wings and fly. I giggle, then try to cover my mouth and, failing, laughing harder. When I compose myself, I explain through chuckles it was hyperbole. Ravne and Graie are tragically less amused.

“But tell me, what did you actually do?” I inquire, leaning forwards with my hands folded under my chin.

“W—w—well, I’ve been working on the design for a new technique of trap-setting where the—” Ravne’s proud explanation is cut off by Graie.

“A bear.”

“Sorry, come again?”

“I—I caught a bear,” Ravne admits, blushing and fiddling with his necklace.

“Blessed Starlaxi, you’re going to have to show me how to set that kind of trap!” I exclaim, but before Ravne can turn a more interesting shade of tomato, Yllowei Fennen’s now-familiar raspy yell echoes through the dining hall where we’ve seated ourselves.

“Fiyr, so help me, bring me some food or I’ll knock you into next week!”

“Duty calls.”

Graie mimes swinging a frying pan.


	11. Chapter 10 - Fiyr

Chapter 10 - Fiyr

The first thing I hear when I wake up is the heavy rain doing its damnedest to get into the squire’s wing. My body protests the idea of getting out of bed so early in the morning, but I know for a fact that we haven’t had time to repair the leak in the healer’s wing and if, by some cruel twist of fate, Yllowei Fennen gets soggy, I might as well start planning my funeral.

With that thought, I scramble out of bed and change from my cotton sleep-clothes to the regular Thundrian uniform and hurry to the healer’s wing, trying not to wake anybody up on my way.

I tiptoe into the healer’s wing with a candle in hand and carefully light the torch next to the entrance to the wing.

When I turn around, the faint torchlight illuminates a horrifying sight.

The outline of Yllowei, sitting up in her bed for blessed Starlaxi knows how long, her hair wild and frizzy, hazel eyes narrowed, with a tiny drop of water _pit_ ting into her mane every few seconds.

“Gah!” I yelp, my hand shaking so hard I almost drop the candle.

Barely glancing away from me, she lights the candle next to her bed as well, illuminating more of her disheveled appearance.

“It’s been raining, hasn’t it.” Not a question, just sort of a growl.

“W-why don’t you move to one of the free beds in the nursery? They can always spare a-”

“I’ve been kept up at all hours of the night by small children enough times in my life,” she hisses.

“Y-you can move to one of the other healer’s beds, I’ll get you some fresh sheets,” I stammer, trying not to look directly at her.

“Yes, you will,” she growls, and I whip around and hurry out of the healer’s wing.

I haven’t made it more than three steps across the throne room and towards the storage rooms when I nearly crash headfirst into someone.

“Apologies, ma’am!” I exclaim in a whisper when I see it’s a very disgruntled Speikall Tiall.

“Queen Bluelianna wants to speak with you,” she says briskly, pointing at the ominous door behind the throne.

I gulp. _That doesn’t sound good…_

Tension tingling in my spine, I climb up the dais and knock hesitantly on the wooden door.

“Enter,” the queen calls, muffled by the oak, and I crack it open.

It’s a room I’ve never actually seen before in my whole time at the castle; the queen’s chambers.

I push it further open tentatively and step inside. The walls are covered in maps of different sections of the kingdom with strange labels, words that mean nothing to me. A seemingly random patch of trees has a piece of parchment stuck to it with word ‘Escondite’ scribbled on it. A village is labelled ‘Reforzamiento’. A small stretch of hills next to the Shodawes border has the tag ‘Emboscada’.

_Gibberish. Probably a code or something,_ I conclude. _Old Thundria, maybe._

“You wanted to see me?”

The queen looks up from her desk. She has papers scattered around her and her left hand is covered in ink stains. “Yes, yes, Fiyr, come in. Sit down.”

She seems distracted as she runs an inky hand through her bluish gray hair.

“Not in trouble, am I?” I joke uncomfortably, slowly easing myself into the wooden chair she has across from her desk.

“Of course not, no no,” she mutters, sweeping papers aside and then folds her hands on the table. “I’ve decided you should join the other squires again. Lady Fennen can be looked to by Spottalia Lief; your training comes first. Sir Cawle is evaluating the squires today, and I’d like you to join them.”

My eyes widen. “Really? Thank you! Thank you!”

I bow hastily, half-out of my chair already.

“They’re meeting at the base of the trees in half an hour,” the queen informs me, returning to her work. “Get something to eat.”

When I leave the office, the throne room’s begun to buzz with activity.

I head to the squire’s nook to wake up Graie, but when I pull back the curtain I find him yanking off his shirt.

“You could knock!” he yelps, his shirt half-over his head and stumbles backwards onto his bed.

A surprised bout of laughter erupts out of me and I whip the curtain shut. “On a curtain?”

“The _wall_ , numb-nuts!” Graie cries indignantly, then pulls open the curtain in full uniform.

“You’re up early,” I say.

“I _know_ ,” he groans. “Fate worse than death; an early morning assessment. You’re lucky you’re just dealing with Yllowei.”

“No, I’m joining you actually,” I tell him, laughing.

“No shit? Man, the queen hates your guts,” he replies, hobbling past me and out into the throne room, beelining for the dining hall.

“She doesn’t _hate_ me, she just really really really wants to drive me crazy,” I mutter, following him.

He snorts, which in his present state of consciousness is about equal to rolling on the floor laughing if he was properly awake.

“Breakfast,” he groans, resting his head on the counter.

“Want to try that again as a functioning human being?” Frostialla Fuor invites with a cocked eyebrow.

“Eaaaat,” Graie mumbles, and I’m pretty sure he’s fallen asleep again standing up.

“Two plates of breakfast please, coffee, and water,” I request with a grateful smile and grab Graie’s collar. “C’mon buddy, time to wake up.”

Frostialla gives me a eyeroll and ducks back in to get the food.

Two minutes later I’ve managed to get Graie into an upright position and Frostialla Fuor’s back with our food.

“Here you are,” she says, laying each plate on the counter carefully.

“Come on, Graie, you have to carry your own plate, I have to take my coffee,” I plead, elbowing his.

He collapses like jelly.

“Ooooh, no you don’t,” I tell him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him until he blinks, looking disoriented.

“Time to get up?” he mumbles.

“Breeaaakfast,” I tell him, waving the plate under his nose.

He closes his eyes and follows it with his head, swaying like a snake. His hands rise, and I deposit the plate in them before taking a hold of my own breakfast and rolling my eyes out of his sight. We walk into the dining room and sit, Graie seeming very awake all of a sudden.

“So what’s up with this assessment?” I ask, cutting up my food.

“Pair hunting,” Graie explains through giant mouthfuls. “Sir Cawle’s sending us in different directions over the kingdom to hunt in different territories.”

“Has he given out the pairs yet?” I ask hopefully.

Depending on who I’m with, this day could be a fun hunting trip through the forest or one of the more unpleasant things I’ve ever done.

“Not yet, he will once we’re all collected,” Graie answers, focusing deeply on his food.

“Oh great.” Doesn’t soothe my nerves at all. That, or the caffeine’s kicking in.

“Ugh, is the god-toy doing the assessment too?” Duss complains, sauntering into the dining hall behind Samn.

“My name is Fiyr,” I tell my eggs.

“What’s that?” Duss jeers, leaning over the table towards me.

“I’m not a _god-toy_ , my name is Fiyr!” I snap, glaring at him.

“I thought the gods beat all the dissension out of their servants,” Samn observes snidely, setting his plate down at a table far from mine and Graie’s.

“Yeah, well you don’t know shit about the gods!” I spit back, standing up, suddenly feeling less hungry.

Graie’s fork clatters onto the table as he drops it. I glance down and see that he’s finished his breakfast. “We should bring our plates back.”

Wordlessly, trying to relax my tensed muscles, I stand up from the bench and carry my plate back to the kitchen with Graie. He glances at me a couple times, then looks back at his plate, then back at me, then finally speaks.

“Don’t let them get to—”

“You’ve said it a hundred times, but I just wish _I_ didn’t have to deal with it!” I snap irritably. “What is their problem?! I _left_ the gods!”

He sighs, scrubbing at his face with his free hand. “It’s… complicated. You know that on the same day that you showed up at court, Samn’s father was killed, so he probably feels like the second you showed up, things started going wrong. You know, part of his life ended when his father died and the next part started when you showed up. He’s probably just trying to hang on to how things were before you came to court.”

I look upwards, thinking. I’ve heard people talk about Redde Tayle enough that it feels like I know him, but I guess after awhile I just sort of forgot about him. It wouldn’t be so easy for his son to let him go though.

“I… I can’t really imagine what that’s like for him,” I mumble, feeling out of place suddenly. “My parents gave me up to the gods before I even knew them… I never had a chance to lose them.”

Graie looks me pityingly, but I glance away. “Still doesn’t explain Duss’s sour attitude.”

“He’s… a complicated one,” Graie sighs. “His father left his mother, almost immediately after she knew she was pregnant, to be with my mother…”

“Wait,” I interrupt, brow furrowing. “To be with your mother? He’s your… half-brother?”

“Uhuh,” he replies, then shrugs with a regretful sigh. “Never really acted like family though. ‘Sides, my dad… basically fucked off back to a village after he and my mom were done. So I don’t think Duss missed much in the fatherhood department. Duss doesn’t look kindly on… _mingling_ though, so when you came out of nowhere I think it just made him angrier. Inconstancy, I guess. People being quick to praise what’s new and interesting and forgetting about everyone else, like his father did with his mother and my mother, and how the court’s done it with him and you.”

I cock my head. “Is that really enough to make him like that though?”

“I think Samn and Duss sort of feed into each other,” Graie says thoughtfully as we return out plates. “They’re so close that if they think the other one hates you, they’ll be quick to pretend that they do too. I think if you got one of them alone, it might change things.”

I nod, chewing on that. For such a carefree kid, Graie’s a lot wiser than he looks. _And he’s not wrong. I mean, how Samn was joking around when I brought their catches back the other day… but then again, what about when I told him I thought we could’ve been friends, and he shut me down so fast? Duss was nowhere then, and he still snapped._

I wince at the memory. Despite all my sympathy for Samn’s trouble with his father, I really wish we could be friends. It’s a weirdly strong feeling to feel towards someone who apparently hates me so much… _I don’t really feel it towards Duss. I wish Duss wasn’t so standoffish, but I’m in no hurry to buddy up with him._

Samn, on the other hand, occasionally shows glimmers of what I can only imagine he was like before his father died. Moments where he’s teasing Duss, or gloating to Sir Strommer about his bullseyes. Confident and laid-back. It’s a weirdly disappointed feeling in my gut, just thinking about how different things might have been if Sir Tayle wasn’t killed.

_No point in dwelling on how things could have been, I guess…_ I think, sighing.

“C’mon, Sir Cawle’s waiting for us, and today of all days is one where we’d better be on time,” Graie declares, redirecting our path towards the front doors of the castle. “Assessment, wheeeee…”

I laugh, feeling a bit better and we hurry out the doors of the castle and make it to the forest floor in record time. We beat both Samn and Duss, but Ravne’s been sitting at the base of a tree, fiddling with his arrows since before we get there.

Sir Cawle stands in the middle of a clearing, silent and waiting. A minute later, Samn and Duss both hit the ground in puffs of dust that I’m certain they used their respective life-force abilities to manipulate the ground, just to make a dramatic entrance. Duss shimmied down a tree alongside Samn this time, though, I notice.

_Show-offs._

Ever since I started the life-force studies that every squire has to go through, I’ve learned how unfair certain things are. For whatever reason, I know I’ve shown unusual talent, but my abilities are counteracted by the fact that I won’t actually be able to _create_ fire until I’m a full knight.

So every time we practice life-force, the knights have to bring big torches for me to use. Samn and Duss can just pull their elements straight from the ground. Things will even out once we’re knights, but until then if I get into a fight, I’ll be using my sword and hoping someone brought a torch for some random reason.

Not to mention those who don’t even use elements or summon like Sir Cawle and Sir Hartef. All they need is space and time, and boom, they’ve got the upperhand. _Alchemists,_ I recall the right term for them.

As Sir Cawle turns on his heel and begins to lead us to the training grounds, something occurs to me.

I elbow Graie. “If everyone’s named after their life-force type, how come Sir Cawle’s name is drawn from ‘tiger’? He’s not a summoner…”

Graie runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Not the sort of thing they talk about in class, but there’s kind of… a divide between summoners and elementalists... and alchemists.”

“A divide?” I cock an eyebrow.

“Like…” he rubs his hands as we walk, then continues quietly, “alchemists are considered less powerful. But… it’s _sort_ of grounded, because it’s certainly easier to see someone who can pull lions out of hats as stronger than someone who can just change the colours of stuff. It’s not totally correct though, because alchemical life-force usually just means you have to get creative with its uses. Like, colour magic, you could turn the air directly in front of someone’s eyes as bright white as the sun and blind them. Lions can just attack stuff. Plus, interior decorating.”

I laugh, nodding. “I get it. So people just think because it’s harder to use effectively means you _can’t_ use it effectively.”

“Exactly.”

I fall silent. “But that still doesn’t explain why Sir Cawle’s parents didn’t name him after ‘sharp’ or something.”  
Graie sighs again, glancing up ahead to make sure Sir Cawle isn’t listening in on our conversation. “His parents had tree summoning and leopard summoning life-forces, two particularly gifted life-force users. When their kid was born and demonstrated the ability to sharpen and dull things, they were… disappointed, to say the least.”

“Were you even born then?” I question, suspicious of how he apparently knows the history of people that died before he was even alive.

“Nah,” he admits, laughing. “Second-hand rumours. But they explain a lot, and the Thundrian records keep track of most of this stuff. So when you see two people with summoner and elementalist life-force give birth to a kid with sharpening/dulling life-force and name him for ‘tiger’, it’s not hard to connect the dots.”

I frown. “What kind of parents would try to pretend their kid was something they weren’t, when what they _are_ is just as good, but different?”

“Because people are bloody idiots,” Graie declares, laughing. “You’ve hit the question people have been asking themselves since the beginning of time. This is as close to an answer as we’ve gotten.”

I feel an odd stab of sympathy for Sir Cawle. Can’t have been easy to have a _name_ as a constant reminder that what he was born with wasn’t good enough for the people who were supposed to love him unconditionally.

“And Sir Liyon Hartef?” I point out. I could see someone as sour as Sir Cawle coming from the kind of people who would deliberately misname their child to remind them of their shortcomings, but Sir Hartef is so honorable and loyal that—

“Yeah, his parents were the same,” Graie nods. “Speikall Tiall’s his mother, you know.”

“Really?” My eyes widen. “But…” There’s less than twenty years difference between them.

“Mm,” Graie nods, confirming it. “She was apparently very upset when her child took after her in life-force type instead of her husband’s.”

“How does life-force even work in genetics?” I ask, frowning. If a summoner and an elementalist like Tigre’s parents can give birth to an alchemist…

“Blacklands if I know,” Graie snorts. “But it doesn’t matter. No matter what kind of life-force you have, you can use it to be strong. And not every strong life-force leads to a strong knight. Look at people like Brindellia Faise. One of the most talented life-force users in the four kingdoms and she barely leaves the castle.”

“Animal summoning, right?” I recall, thinking of my half-hearted studying of everyone’s life-force. Hers is an interesting case. Most summoners have one animal that they can do all sorts of things with. She has all of them.

“Yeah. Honestly, if she went into more battles instead of staying in the nursery and taking care of kids all day, Thundria would be ruling all four kingdoms,” Graie says, snorting.

“Why doesn’t she?” I demand, then fall silent, remembering it. “Not the childbearing thing, is it?”

The old laws that women were supposed to have kids, lest the courts collapse from underpopulation. Outdated and pointless, if you asked me, but most important court members have made it clear to me that my opinion as a supposed outsider is worthless.

“Sort of,” Graie says, shrugging. “Just sort of a general attitude that women shouldn’t fight because… I don’t really know. Less physically strong or something, but that’s not even half the battle when there’s stuff like life-force to consider, so go figure.”

As always when the subject of the kingdoms’ idiotically stubborn refusal to accept women as _actual_ knights instead of just sort of hand waving their importance comes up, a deep frown sets into my face.

“C’mon, you need to get through this assessment before you start trying to change all the social constructs of the kingdoms,” Graie teases, jutting his chin out to where Tigre Cawle’s stopped and turned around to face us.

“Right,” I mutter, my complaints subsiding as Sir Cawle begins speaking.

“Your assessment today will be to gauge your hunting ability, discipline, teamwork, and general intelligence,” he rattles off, sounding slightly bored and like he’s memorized this from a sheet of paper. “You will be hunting in pairs, each sent to a different part of the territory. You may split up, or stay together, I don’t care. I will be watching you, so rest assured that if you try any silliness, there’s a good chance you’ll be taking care of the elders for the next six months.”

There’s a general snicker that’s quieted by a glare from the burly knight.

“I’ll give you your pairs and then your hunting section,” he explains. “No complaining about either. I am utterly uninterested in how much you hate each other and-or the different sections of the forest. Spare me and the rest of your squires your whinging. Understood?”

“Yessir,” everyone mumbles.

“Excellent. Without further ado, the lucky couples,” he sneers. “Graie and Duss will be hunting in the northwest forests by the large village of Cumulus.”

It looks like it is physically harming Duss not to whine about this.

Graie doesn’t look pleased either, but true to his word he says nothing.

_Please let me be paired with Ravne, please let me be—_

“Fiyr and Samn will hunt by the southwest border,” Tigre Cawle states, a dry smile spreading over his face. “And Ravne will be hunting alone by the Cockatrice Ruins. Should be easy enough for your pitiful skill.”

Despite my heart falling at the prospect of hunting with the world’s blondest jerk, my eyebrows raise at Sir Cawle implying the Cockatrice Ruins are an easy place to hunt.

“Uh, but isn’t Ravne going to be too busy trying not to get turned to stone to actually hunt?” I question to Graie.

“He’ll be fine; Ravne’s craftier than he looks,” Graie replies without looking away from Sir Cawle.

_That’s not really what I asked…_ I think silently, but shrug.

“Alright, head out,” Sir Cawle orders. “When you hear the hunting horn, the assessment is over.”

I nod in unison with the other squires, avoiding Samn’s olive green gaze.

“Go,” Tigre announces, and we all head out in different directions.

Samn takes the lead silently, and we ride out to the southwest border of Thundria.

We’re almost halfway to the border and I’m considering trying to strike up a conversation with him when he suddenly holds up his hand to stop me. _How did he know I was going to say something?_

But then he halts Dune, and I realize he meant stop the horse, not whatever asinine comment I was planning. I awkwardly twist Blitz’s reins and bring her to what could charitably be called a halt.

He, silent as death, unslings his bow and levels an arrow at a doe about fifteen meters away that I somehow completely missed. I manage to restrain a gasp, but his eyes flick my way for a moment, then back to the doe.

With a barest twitch, he shifts a little to the left to compensate for the breeze and lets his arrow fly. It impales itself right in the chest of the doe, which collapses with a squeal of pain.

I stare at Samn, nakedly impressed, but he pays me no mind and spurs Dune towards the dying animal, pulls out a hunting and finishes it off, and then speaks an inaudible prayer to the Starlaxi.

“Wow, you’re-”

“Next time keep your damn mouth shut!” Samn snaps, rounding on me.

“Okay! Blessed Starlaxi! Relax,” I snap back, immediately on the defensive. “If me _breathing_ bothers you so damn much then let’s split up!”

“Fine by me!” he shouts back, already leaving clearing and leaving me to deal with the doe’s body.

Rolling my eyes angrily, I tie the corpse high enough to stop anything from stealing it while we hunt. _Stuck-up jerk. Thinks he can just run around making kills and expects everyone to pick up after him._

Maybe I should have just left the doe on the ground to spite him. Well… no, that would be a waste. I’m still itching to get back at him somehow though. _I’ll just catch more than him,_ I resolve.

I slip into the fifth dimension, hoping to catch the drifting trace of another doe (preferably larger than Samn’s) and instead I sense the presence of another person.

I can’t quite get a read on their origins, but it’s a familiar feeling. _Probably just Sir Cawle, nothing to worry about. I think…_

Creeping forwards slowly, I squint through the trees to try to spot the person, and realize with a jolt that it’s pretty solidly _not_ Sir Cawle.

_Intruder,_ I think immediately, my hand going to the hilt of Rusty.

I silently walk into the clearing behind the strange person, and just as I’m getting ready to pull out my sword, my shoulders tense abruptly with recognition. _That’s not an intruder!_

“Prin?” I call out uncertainly. _Could just be some random god-to—employee… but I’d know that hair anywhere._

“Rossy!” She whips around and stares at me. I hardly recognize her; her hair’s been cut short, in brown and white feathers that frame her ears and jaw, and she’s grown enough that she looks more like a grown woman than the girl-teenager I remember. “Gods, I can’t believe it’s you!”

I nearly knock her over with a massive bear hug. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“You haven’t been visiting,” she murmurs, half-teasing.

“They don’t really like god-toys at court,” I mumble back into her hair.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” she says, pulling back to get a good look at me. “Have they been feeding you well? Are you happy? Have you made friends? Gotten a handle on that fire?”

“Yes, yes, yes, and I’m trying,” I answer breathlessly. It’s like some hollow in my heart’s been filled back up, seeing her again. “You were right.”

“As I often am,” she says.

It feels so weirdly normal, just talking to her like this again. _It’s been years,_ I realize, like a bucket of cold water upended on my head. _Years more that she’s been with the gods._ I haven’t kept my promise, have I? Years, and I have no idea how to help her.

“You should come back with me,” I say suddenly.

Prin’s eyes widen, then she twists to look back at the wall. I didn’t realize I’d gotten so close to the trace-line. “I can’t, Rossy, you know I can’t.”  
“ _Why?_ ” I sound like a little kid again, I know I do, but i can’t help her if I don’t understand!

She shakes her head. “I have to go. It was good seeing you, and please don’t stay away so long again.”

_This isn’t enough!_ that little kid yells inside me, on the precipice of a temper tantrum. _I want to see her for longer! I have to help her!_ But she’s already stepping back, waving goodbye, and then climbing back over the wall

And though I’m sure it’s only my imagination, I hear the snap of a twig and the sound of footsteps running away from where I stand in the trees, deeper into the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading chapter 10! Please give me all ya kudos and comments :* they make for excellent motivation  
> ~Akila


	12. Chapter 11 - Samn

Chapter 11 - Samn

Maybe I shouldn’t have gone back for the doe.

Maybe I should’ve let Fiyr get it himself.

Maybe I shouldn’t have stuck around when I heard the voices.

But I did.

And I heard it all. I heard Fiyr chatting with some god-toy like he’d only come from their mansions last week, as friendly as can be, not exactly chasing off an intruder. Greeting her like an old friend.

I hurry through the forest, my footsteps made clumsy and loud by the doe’s weight. _Just go, just go, don’t let him see you…_

My mind’s in turmoil as I run.

_Do I report him? Should I tell the queen? It’s not even against the knight’s code, but… well, reject the soft life of a god-toy—so sort of—but does that count? What’ll happen to him if it does count?_

“Samn.” The sharp voice of Tigre stops me in my tracks.

I can’t be more than fifty metres from where I saw Fiyr and that god-toy, and if Tigre Cawle’s here too, that means…

“What was Fiyr doing, talking to that god-toy?” His tone is even and devoid of inflection.

“I—I don’t really know, sir,” I mumble, scrambling to reach a decision about whether or not I should rat him out. _I’ll just give Sir Cawle vague answers until I decide._ “I wasn’t close enough to hear.”  
“You weren’t?” A single eyebrow raises itself.

_Damn it._ “Uh, I think he was challenging the god-toy that wandered onto our territory. As any squire or knight loyal to the court would do.”

His expression is carved in stone, unmoving and betraying nothing, but his arms fold over the lightning bolt emblem. “I see. Perhaps you’d like to relate the full series of events to Queen Bluelianna Star?”  
The way he drawls the offer, it sounds like a threat, but I ignore the crawling feeling on my back and nod gratefully. _The queen will know what to do. It isn’t my place to decide whether Fiyr should be punished. Or… exiled. The queen will know._

“We’re going to go back to the training spot and I will blow the horn. You are not to speak to Fiyr about what you heard until the queen has reached a decision,” the knight orders, and I nod fervently. _That was the plan regardless._

We walk in charged silence back to the clearing where we started, and I can only draw a resemblance to the feeling of being marched back to the enemy base as a prisoner. _Sir Cawle is just being loyal... in a very creepy way,_ I reassure myself.

But I can’t shake the feeling that Sir Cawle is rather interested in seeing Fiyr punished. Why else would he have sent us to hunt by the mansions? _Is he trying to get his own squire in trouble? Or maybe test him?_

My brain turns over the information and theories, pulling it all apart and putting it back together over and over again. _But without knowing what Sir Cawle’s end goal is, I really don’t know what he’s trying to pull here,_ I reflect, worry writhing in my stomach. _Maybe he was just trying to force Fiyr to prove that he’s a loyal member of the court by getting him to indirectly confront his past. Though Tigre couldn’t have known that a god-toy would be there at that very moment._

Unless the conspiracy went deeper… and Tigre had bribed the god-toy to—

I shut off my brain, resisting a face-palm. _This is getting out of hand, get it together, Samn. Nobody’s conspiring against anybody—it was just bad luck that Fiyr and I were sent to the very place that Fiyr carries the most burdens from._

_Probably._

…

Five uncomfortable minutes after Tigre blows the hunting horn, the sound of hoofbeats approaches and Duss and Graie arrive back in the clearing atop their horses, Graie with a boar and Duss with a pheasant in each bloody hand, both looking terribly smug. I’m honestly surprised they haven’t murdered each other; my patience for Graie’s manner is low at the best of times but I know Duss has even more distaste for him than I do. _Probably because of his father._

“Well done,” Tigre Cawle praises them with a rare smile.

_He’s in good spirits… but he seemed rather sour this morning. Because his plot worked?_ a little part of me wonders.

_Or_ maaaybe _, he’s just not a morning person and now that he’s feeling more awake, he’s also not as grouchy!_ the sensible part of me snaps back. _Blessed Starlaxi above, would you stop with the conspiracy theorist act for like five minutes?!_

“Well, look at you,” I comment teasingly to Duss instead. “Keep this up and by the time you’re forty you might be as good as I am now.”

“Swan dive off a tree,” he replies sweetly, sticking his tongue out at me.

“Now I know your hunting strategies are unorthodox, but that’s a little stupid, even for you,” I counter with a smirk.

His one retort expended, he makes a rude gesture instead, and I cackle.

The hoofbeats of another person returning from hunting immediately shut me up. It’s a quick reminder of the precarious situation I’ve found myself in and it sobers me.

“No luck, god-toy?” Duss jeers immediately as Fiyr rides in, apparently empty-handed.

“Oh no, see, he knifed a chipmunk,” I say mockingly as he pulls a pathetically small quail out of his saddlebags. “ _Well_ done, really saved the kingdom from starvation there.”

“Is Ravne not back yet?” Fiyr asks Graie, pointedly ignoring us as we continue to rib on his sparrow-sized catch. “He probably got turned to stone by a cockatrice! Why is nobody doing anything?”  
“If he did, it’s his own carelessness,” Sir Cawle says. It’s sarcasm. Probably.

We wait for another tense ten minutes, not even Duss bothering to break it with more uncreative jabs at Fiyr’s poor hunting skill.

“Ravne!” Graie exclaims as a figure finally pushes through the underbrush. “Hooooooooly shit, is that a—”

He silences himself as his mouth gapes in sight of Ravne’s limping form, carrying two bird-snakes in each hand with a boar strung over his back.

I stare as well as Ravne throws the four cockatrices to the forest floor in front of Tigre Cawle. The black-haired squire rasps a laugh. “Turns out ravens’ crowing kills ‘em just as easy as a rooster’s does.”

Nobody has anything to say to that, but Sir Cawle claps him on the back with enough force to make Ravne wince and we collect our catches, Fiyr taking the responsibility of Ravne’s boar, while the other squire limply mounts his horse and dumps the creatures’ corpses into his saddlebags.

_For such a skittish guy, when it comes to non-humans he might actually be the bravest person I know,_ I think, still amazed at his casual presentation of four corpses of some of the most deadly creatures in the four kingdoms. _Thundria’s lucky._

When we’ve put the horses in the stables and pushed the doors to the castle open, a little group of kids greet us.

“Wow, Ravne! You caught those!?” one of them squeals, staring at the cockatrices.

“A-a-and the boar,” he mumbles, flushing under the admiration of the children.

_Not good at accepting praise it would seem,_ I think, amused. _Kind of cute, actually._

“You’re so strong! I hope my life-force is summoning!” another one exclaims, running off with her arms spread like she’s a bird.

The others chase after her, laughing, and-

_Wait, whoa whoa whoa, did I just…?_ I catch myself on my last thought and blink.

Ravne runs a hand through his hair self-consciously, still laughing. I watch him closely. _Okay, whatever, I can objectively think it’s weirdly adorable that he’s crazy good at killing freaky beasts and also turns pink when he gets praised for it._

It’s the truth! Mostly.

Before I dig my own grave any deeper, I hurry to bring my catches to the kitchens.

“Don’t forget to see Queen Bluelianna Star afterwards,” Sir Cawle reminds me in a low tone that goes unnoticed by the other squires. I feel a little colder and glance at the other squires. Duss is already halfway to the kitchens and Fiyr and Graie are now ribbing Ravne about his cockatrices, some jokes in better taste than others, and I hurry off.

“Think we can eat it?” Graie wonders.

“Smells pretty foul, I don’t want to risk it,” Ravne replies, poking at it.

“Yeah, no one wants Ravne’s cockatrice in their mouth,” Fiyr joins in with a wicked gleam in his eyes, elbowing Graie, who promptly loses it and turns heads from across the throne room with his peals of laughter.

I don’t get the privilege of seeing Ravne’s reaction to that as I duck into the kitchens, though I’m sure he turns a most interesting shade of red.

_Gathering’s in a few days,_ I remind myself to distract from the other thoughts. _I wonder if I’ll be invited. I mean, I’ve gone to a lot of the other ones, but maybe…_

I drop the meat unceremoniously in the part of the kitchen I’m well acquainted with, having spent many afternoons gutting animals for dinner. Most of the other squires are too squeamish, but the way I figure, either we cut them up now or they rot and then there was no point in them giving up their lives for us in the first place.

Fortunately, I’m not on kitchen-duty today, so with a little salute to a displeased Goldanna Flourer, I duck back out of the kitchen and beeline for the queen’s office.

I’ve been there a few times, mostly as a small child while Brindellia Faise and Queen Bluelianna Star discussed over my head and I tried not to squirm too much.

I knock, and the sound of the queen’s voice calling “Enter!” from within causes me to open the door. She’s sitting at her desk, organizing files and labelling things.

“Your Majesty,” I greet her, bowing deeply.

“Have a seat, Samn,” she invites softly, leaning back in her chair with her hands folded businesslike on her desk.

Uncomfortably, I pull back the chair and take my seat. _Did Tigre_ —

“Sir Cawle has informed me of what transpired during the hunting assessment today,” she says primly, but her eyes are narrowed thoughtfully. “Fiyr found a god-toy on the territory and rather than chasing her off, began to… er, _chat_.”  
I nod uncertainly.

“Sir Cawle was quick to assure me that while _he_ did not hear their conversation, you were close enough?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows expectantly.

“Yeah,” I confess, not sure that this will be enough to condemn Fiyr. Not that I want it to be. But—well, I wouldn’t mind seeing him punished. Still, though—

“How long did they speak for?” she asks, her head tilting slightly.

“Five minutes, tops, maybe,” I answer quickly, relieved that it’s a simple fact to relay.

“And what about?”

“Um… The god-toy said he hadn’t visited her. And he said the court doesn’t like god-toys, and then she asked if was happy and stuff.” I trail off, trying to remember what exactly they’d said to each other. “He asked her to ‘come back’ with him, but she said she couldn’t...”

The queen nods slowly, satisfied with my rambling answer and glances above my head at the wall behind me, focusing at nothing in particular, lost in thought. What feels like an eternity stretches on before she speaks again.

“Thank you for telling me what happened,” the queen murmurs, glancing back down at her papers. “I appreciate your candour. Tell me, Samn, what do you think of Thundria’s newest squire?”

The question catches me off guard and I stammer for a suitable response. _I don’t… hate him, he’s just…_ “I think he’s… loyal.”

A dry smile traces the lines of the queen’s face. “I suppose, at the end of the day that is all I can ask of my court.”

“He’s honest, and a good friend to Graie and Ravne. I think…” I mumble, suddenly realizing that I don’t know a whole lot about him. We don’t exactly… _talk_. “Um. He’s a bit hot-headed but he defends what he believes in fiercely.”

_What am I talking about?_ I fight a blush. _I mean, this is… it’s just the truth, right?_

The queen nods slowly again, her blue eyes locked on mine intensely. It’s intimidating, and I have the sudden feeling that the question was intended to learn more than just what I thought of Fiyr.

“Most would agree,” she says thoughtfully. “Even Yllowei Fennen, the fiercest, thorniest creature the kingdoms have ever seen seems to have grown to appreciate him in some ways. I rather like the crabby old woman.”

The queen laughs like we’re sharing a joke, but the humour leaves her face quickly and she cocks her head thoughtfully. “Do you think Fiyr will leave the court?”

I flinch at the thought. I’ve been telling myself that’s what I want since he’s come to court, but now, with the opportunity to nudge the queen towards sending him right back to where he came from… I’m hesitating.

“I… don’t think he will choose to leave,” I say carefully. “Whether he has earned his place…”

“Will be evaluated in due time,” the queen says dismissively. “But you truly believe he intends to stay in Thundria’s court.”

“I do,” I confirm quietly, cracking my knuckles nervously in my lap. “He believes that this is where he belongs.”

“And you do not,” the queen finishes perceptively.

“Until he’s earned his place—” I defend, but the queen cuts me off.

“How do you believe he will do that? Erase his past? What has been done cannot be undone.” Her eyes light with memories. “We must simply carry on and prove that we are the wiser from our foolish youths.”

She’s talking about more than Fiyr, more than me, but I don’t know what.

“Yes, Your Highness,” I agree quietly. “I only meant…”

The tension relaxes from her face and she gives me a warm smile. “Don’t let it worry you Samn. You’ll know when he’s proven himself loyal, and it will be nothing but your own fault if you still won’t accept him.”

Though the words seem harsh, she is reassuring. She believes that my pride, or whatever it is, won’t stop me from welcoming Fiyr into the court once he’s supposedly proven himself.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for yet. I only hope that Fiyr proves my hopes correct. Perhaps it is foolish. What do you think, Samn? Has my judgement been clouded by our need for knights?” the queen wonders, sounding as weak and doubtful as I’ve heard her.

“No, Your Highness,” I exclaim. I search for better reassurance, but all I can manage is a desperate refusal of the idea that our infallible monarch is weakening. “No.”

She absorbs this and then sighs. “With the threat of Shodawa, I can only hope that when it matters most, he will choose honour and loyalty over the quicker, easier path.”

“Fiyr?” I ask questioningly.

The queen is lost in thought, so I stand and bow again.

Just as I’m about to leave, she calls me back.

“One more thing. Tell Fiyr that he is to return to regular training starting tomorrow. The ladies of the court will be taking care of Yllowei Fennen,” the queen decrees, then blinks. “And also, you, Fiyr, and Ravne will be attending the Gathering in four days.”

“Thank you!” I exclaim, then cough and bow more formally and hurry out of her office.

Fiyr’s sitting alone on the dais, a few feet in front of me as I exit the office. Graie and Ravne are nowhere to be seen.

I’m about to inform him of his training situation when, without turning, he speaks to me. “You heard me?”

_He’s talking about the god-toy, I presume…_ “Yes.”

He doesn’t look away from where he’s sharpening his knife with a rock, so I walk forwards to stand at his shoulder, also pointedly not looking at him.

“You told the queen about it?”

“Yes.”

“She’s not throwing me out of the kingdom.”

“No.”

“But you did your best.”

“What?”  
Fiyr glances up at me with a cocked eyebrow, his freckled face defiant. “You tried to tell her that I was disloyal? Tried to get me kicked out?”

“Huh?” I frown. “I—no, I didn’t.”

I was going to ask why he thinks I would do that, but the answer comes as quickly as the question. His eyebrows raise, a hint of disbelieving in his expression.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah, it is _so_ ,” I snap back, irritation bubbling inside me. _I just spent like ten minutes defending him and he’s so ungrateful._ The sensible part of me takes issue with this idea, but I ignore it.

“Thought you wanted me gone so things could go back to how they were,” he challenges.

The accusation steals my voice for a moment. _Is that why I… but…_

My voice gets very quiet, but I try to hang onto the steel that silences his irritating comments.

“You leaving won’t bring him back.”

And before my nose stings, and before salt is pooling in my eyes again, I turn and briskly head for the squire’s wing, where I nearly crash into Ravne.

“Um, oh yeah,” I mutter. “You and Fiyr are going to the Gathering.”

His eyebrows raise, then raise further, when I wring my hands in my tunic and hurry past him awkwardly, feeling like there’s cotton in my mouth. The exchange with Fiyr’s left me off-balance and confused, and I just want to curl up on my bed and forget this stupid day ever happened.

Right before I pull the curtain of my nook shut, I see, through the doorway of the squire’s wing, in the throne room, Fiyr, Ravne, and Graie goofing off as they throw around a cockatrice, poking it with their simple-steel every time it hits them.

As I drift off to sleep, I wonder how things could’ve been different.


	13. Chapter 12 - Sam

Chapter 12 - Samn

I never thought I’d wish Graie was with me.

And yet, as Fiyr asks his four millionth question, that’s exactly what I find myself begging the Starlaxi for. _Why couldn’t he be here to field this idiot’s constant pestering?!_

“That’s King Crukkedaro Star,” I tell him, stifling a groan and pointing at the mountain of a man across the pavilion, who’s firmly planted at the top of the raised platform next to the other leader that’s arrived already.

“He’s _huge_ ,” Fiyr mumbles, staring at the Rivien monarch.

“His brother was Oeak Hahrte,” I inform him, also watching the king. “I wonder how he feels about Thundria right now, then.”

“There are so many people,” Ravne observes tremulously, his big blue eyes taking in the giant crowd below.

I nod, though it goes unnoticed in the darkness. The courts of all four kingdoms only just fit on the pavilion, I’ve heard, yet there’s plenty of space across the stone. _Because…_

“Where’s Wynnd?” Fiyr wonders aloud.

I slip into the fifth dimension, almost unconsciously, but there’s not even a whiff of moors anywhere on the pavilion. _It’s like they never existed at all…_ I remember them from the last Gathering; all lean, stringy twigs of people. They had kind, weathered faces; better than the constant Shodawes scowls at least.

“Is that…” Fiyr mumbles, still staring at the raised platform for the monarchs, though I know instinctively what he’s asking.

“King Braukkiniaum Star,” I say grimly.

Though he’s not as tall as the Rivier king, he’s as wide if not wider, and even from across the pavilion, I can see the deep ridges and edges that scars have cut into his skin.

“Some say he’s—” Ravne’s whispered comment gets cut off as Sir Hartef interrupts us.

“The queen’s about to give the signal.”

His warning proves prudent as we all glance up in time to see her flash a hand through the air in a _move forwards_ signal.

The Thundrian court pours down into the pavilion, and the other two groups spread to allow our passage as we settle into the area. Queen Bluelianna is halfway up the leader’s platform and King Crukkedaro offers a hand to pull her up.

Before our little squire clump dissolves, I lay a hand on Fiyr’s shoulder instinctively, then yank it back.

“What?” He turns, and I pretend it’s too dark to see the blush that colours his face.

“Stay around here,” I mutter. “Over there? That’s Blayke Fouhte .” I motion to the short, compact man. “It’s kinda tough to see right now, but those black gloves he’s wearing are covering burn scars. That man is _emphatically_ not a fan of fire, so steer clear.”

“He couldn’t possibly know I’m a fire elementalist,” Fiyr snorts, borderline scornful.

“News travels fast,” I warn, narrowing my eyes at his dismissiveness. “Just be careful, yeah?”

“I can take care of myself,” he mutters, but there’s no bite behind it.

Before the silence can stretch any longer, I split off from the group. Fiyr hangs back with Ravne, and I squeeze through the crowd, not sure of where I’ll end up but not really caring.

“...and so I bashed my hilt over his head and walked away.” It’s Tigre Cawle’s husky growl, animated through story to some younger Rivier squires.

_Is he telling them about his battle against their kingdom?_ Seems stupid to me, but out of curiosity I freeze in place. _Will he leave out the gory details? There were probably parents of these squires in the fight._

Sir Cawle simply continues recounting certain fighting maneuvers and tactics, nothing explicit. Or… wait a moment. _He didn’t even mention the captains of the guard,_ I realize with a frown and a familiar twinge. _But… two captains falling in the same fight? Does he think it just isn’t that important?_

A protective instinct roars up inside me, but I push it back, telling myself it’s probably just that he didn’t want to describe death to some squires.

_But those squires are at least fifteen, I’m sure it’s nothing they haven’t seen before…_ I think grimly, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Samn?” Fiyr again. Seriously, he’s everywhere.

“What,” I mumble, turning to him with an impatient look.

“I was going to meet the court healers,” he says, trailing off expectantly.

“Alright, let’s go,” I say, sighing. _Whatever. If he wants to cling like a barnacle to me tonight, I don’t care. Just as long as he doesn’t think this is the new normal. Because I’m not acting like this all the time._

I let him lead me over to the court healers, one of whom is recounting some story about a plant, with big hand gestures. I place the young man as Med Rannin Naos, Yllowei Fennen’s successor apparently.

“The gods destroy it with their gases though,” he says with a heavy sigh. “It doesn’t have a chance to grow before it’s choked off again.”

“The maiorum wouldn’t let that happen,” a Thundrian elder, whose voice I recognize as belonging to Lady Tayel.

“Maiorum?” I look down to see where the question came from and see a little boy who looks younger than some of the kids I see playing around the castle.

_Is he a squire?_ I wonder incredulously.

“Maiorum were the people we descended from,” I explain quietly while Rannin continues. “They were stronger and bigger people, and they wouldn’t let the gods push them around.”

The kid’s eyes get bigger than ever.

I don’t hear Ravne’s approach until he adds, “They each had bloodlines that granted them different powers; the Wer had incredible physical ability, the Ser were divinely connected to their ancestors, and the… uh, the other ones were deeply attuned to nature.”

“The Mer,” Sir Hartef informs him. “The Mer were deeply attuned to nature. The Wer granted us our fighting force and strength and nobility in battle, the Ser gave us our connection to the Starlaxi our ways of naming and rings, and the Mer gifted us with the ability to shift into the fifth dimension, or the Trace as it is known formally, at will.”

“The gods sapped their powers until all that was left of the maiorum was us,” Sir Hartef continues. “It’s said that one day, when the kingdoms make their final stand against the gods, the powers of our ancestors will return to us.”

His solemn explanation gets cut off by himself when he looks down at the kid he’s explaining it _to_. “Uh, how old are you?”

The child looks like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights, before stammering out, “I—I—I’m twelve.”

Sir Hartef’s eyes narrow a fraction. “Bit small for your age?”  
“My m—m—my mother was small.” The kid’s stuttering so hard he can barely get the words out.

I glance at Sir Hartef, but I can’t read his thoughts based on the hard set of his jaw or the sharp gleam in his eyes. It can’t be anything good, because the kid takes one look at the knight and disappears back into the crowd.

“Sir Hartef?” I venture nervously, but when he turns back to us his eyes are glimmering with amusement.

“Don’t you pay any attention to your history lessons?” he teases.

“No.”  
“Sometimes,” Ravne says, then giggles. “No.”

Liyon rolls his eyes and waves us off. As we begin to make our way back across the solstice pavilion, Ravne is abruptly swarmed with squires from other kingdoms demanding to know about the battle at the village of the Sun Rocks from a couple years ago. _Must still be kind of legendary,_ I reflect.

I exchange a glance with Ravne, and leave him to his fans.

Fiyr’s still hanging around the court healers, right next to Spottalia Lief, which makes my nostrils flare for the Starlaxi knows what reason, and I hurry up to him.

“We gotta save Ravne, he’s under attack,” I quip.

“Seriously?” His green eyes go wide, reflecting the moon.

“No, you bloody idiot. But a bunch of squires just ambushed him, begging for stories from the battle with Rivier,” I reply shortly, rolling my eyes.

“Oh.” He seems to heave a sigh of relief, and I fight the urge to facepalm. “Okay, let’s go then.”

I lead him across the pavilion towards the cluster of squires and Fiyr quickly ingrains himself into the group, listening raptly to Ravne’s tale.

I hang back, self-conscious. I certainly don’t want any unpleasant things dredged up by the story making me have a melt-down in front of three kingdoms.

It’s only because I chose to stand a few feet from the rest of the squires that I catch a glimpse of Sir Cawle’s shadowed face.

“And they were locked in combat, captain to captain, fightin’ fiercer than two armies pitted ‘gainst each other.” Ravne’s come to life as he tells the story, and his audience seems to appreciate it. “I mean, everyone was fighting, but they were _fighting_ , y’know? Figured only one would make it out alive, and Redde Tayle was gettin’ the upperhand.”

_Wait._

Did I hear him right? Or had it just been a trick by the Rivien captain?

“Sir Tayle drove him back, harder ‘n harder with every strike, Sir Hahrte didn’t stand a chance,” Ravne exclaims.

_My father was… winning? But Sir Hahrte…_ My eyes flick back to Sir Cawle, and I jerk suddenly at the look on his face.

Black fury twists his fearsome expression into a look that would send King Braukkiniaum screaming for his mother.

Ravne’s fielding questions from his adoring fans now, answering in great detail as always, and doesn’t seem to have any clue about Tigre’s dark gaze boring into his back.

After a few minutes of tense silence from me, I finally breathe a sigh of relief when I hear the monarchs calling for us to start. _I should find out what that was about._

“We’ll begin without Wynnd,” King Crukkedaro declares. His voice is rich and deep, though his twisted jaw slurs his words slightly.

“King Braukkiniaum Star will speak first,” the queen announces, stepping back respectfully to let the broad man stand before the entire crowd.

A hush falls across the pavilion. Everyone seems to either know or suspect that Wynnd’s absence is completely the fault of this king.

“Shodawa requires hunting rights to the territories of other kingdoms.”

The declaration is barely out of the man’s gravelly throat before it’s shouted down with protest from Rivier and Thundria. I add a few indignant yells of my own. _Hunting rights to_ our _territory? No! We support ourselves using our own territories._

“It’s for our children,” the king states, soldiering on despite the yelling. “Shodawa has had more children than any other kingdom, and we require more territory to support them all. Rivier and Thundria will have to share.”

“Bullshit!” I yell, and it’s joined with many jeers of the same caliber.

Undeterred, King Braukkiniaum Star continues serenely. “Wynnd also failed to understand, and we were forced to take their land through driving them out. It would be a shame indeed for the same fate to befall the other kingdoms, but should it be necessary, the knights of Shodawa will not hesitate.”

The shocked silence doesn’t last long before louder cries are taken, more forceful, dangerous ones. The kind that if you were caught saying them, it would be bad news indeed.

“Tyrant!” I hear a couple people scream.

But King Braukkiniaum ignores them, fixing his cold eyes on King Crukkedaro and Queen Bluelianna instead. After a charged moment, the Rivien king steps forwards.

“Rivier will allow Shodawa a small stretch of land by the lake,” he said, his voice as sturdy and sure as before, yet the words belied a certain uncertainty in his expression.

King Braukkiniaum’s lips curl into a triumphant smile as yells of malcontent and protest rise from Rivier.

“Thundria will withhold a decision until further consideration,” our Queen says diplomatically.

The Shodawes king doesn’t looked pleased, but with this man, as long as he’s not actively harming anyone else, it seems like a mild mood.

Thundria is certainly displeased with that answer. I hear shouts from familiar voices up to the queen and feel a protective flash of anger. _She’s making the right choice. I know she is._

“Our last piece of news is that a traitor was recently discovered in our court. A highly dangerous person, and I recommend to all kingdoms to keep your children close until the runaway is apprehended,” the King states somberly, but there’s a flash to his eyes that suggests he’s enjoying it a little more than he should.

My mind immediately jumps to the only Shodawes runaway I know of. _He’s not talking about Yllowei, is he? She’s grumpy but she wouldn’t…_

I glance at Fiyr, whose eyes have suddenly bugged out with fear.

“What?” I hiss to him.

“She snapped at some kids the other day…” he mumbled. “I—but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know if everyone else is so sure,” I say grimly glancing around at the Thundrians clustered.

The panicked whispers being exchanged are gaining volume, and it’s going to be a riot if someone doesn’t do something soon.

“She needs to be dealt with!” Tigre Cawle yells, and whispers break out amongst Shodawa and Rivier now too. “We can’t let her harm the children!”

I agree, but I also don’t think she would. Right now, I have a feeling this angry mob’s going to do more damage than any retired healer could if we don’t stop them.

Fiyr’s frozen, staring at the restless crowd.

Someone has to do something.

But the queen’s still staring at King Braukkiniaum, undisguised distaste in her eyes, waiting and watching.

Looks like it’s going to be me.

I grab the front of Fiyr’s tunic and drag him off the pavilion with me.


	14. Chapter 13 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been off so long! This update schedule is really spotty because I'm not as used to thinking about AO3... uh... well here's chapter 13! We've passed the halfway point!

Chapter 13 - Fiyr

I’m questioning all of my life decisions.

Samn stomps on ahead like the ground did him a personal injury, and I follow as best I can. _What suddenly brought this on?_ He was as scornful as the rest when Yllowei Fennen came to Thundria—the cause of his change of heart is beyond me. I had been debating running to the castle ahead of the rest of the court, but my usual indecisiveness had rooted my feet to the ground.

Then the world’s blondest jerk had grabbed the front of my tunic and was yanking me into the shadows around the pavilion. I, of course, immediately assumed he intended to slice my throat open and dump me in the bushes, which is why I was so surprised when I realized that he actually had good intentions.

“But…”

“Keep walking, and keep your mouth shut,” Samn snaps, and I fall silent.

We make it to the solstice pavilion’s stables, and I mount Blitz as quickly as I can. Halfway through the tenth buckle, I hear Samn’s scornful hiss.

“I’m going as quickly as I can!” I snap back under my breath.

“Go faster!” he retorts, already on top of Dune.

After several more rude noises from Samn, I’m astride Blitz and we ride into the night.

…

We’re only a few minutes into the hurried travel when I begin to hear something.

“Do you…” I start, but Samn’s hand rises in the air in the ubiquitous motion of ‘shut up’.

In the silence that follows, I’m wondering if I should try to alert him again, when he suddenly speaks.

“Thundria’s following. We have to speed up. Not going to twist your forsaken-ankle again, are you?” he mocks, but it’s less of a jeer and closer to teasing.

“See if you can keep up,” I retort, and spur Blitz into a run.

Samn huffs behind me, though in irritation or amusement I don’t know. He instantly overtakes me and our mounts thunder through the forest, the noise almost drowned out by the hoofbeats of the rest of the court riding towards the castle far behind us

It’s only a few moments before the familiar clearing is in sight. We dismount silently, me with significantly more difficulty, and I scramble up the ladder as quickly and as quietly as possible.

By the time I make it to the top, Samn’s already led Blitz and Dune back to their stables and is running for the castle doors.

“We can’t go in that way, Goldanna’ll probably only let in the queen,” I hiss.

“Point. Alright, back exit to the kitchen it is,” Samn sighs, and breaks off into a run.

I’m out of breath and can already feel a bead of sweat dribbling down the side of my face as we break through the door and through the deserted kitchens.

“The healer’s wing,” I exclaim, and we charge through the small hallway that connects the kitchen to the healer’s wing.

Samn and I survey the moonlit white cots, desk, and shelves, and then turn to each other as it dawns on both of us.

“Starlaxi-damned fuckin’ shit,” Samn hisses, and is already out the door of the healer’s wing, headed for the nursery.

I blubber out a curse or two of my own, my knees feeling like they won’t support me for much longer.

The healer’s wing is empty; Yllowei’s gone.

I wheel around, almost blinded by tears. _If anything happened to the children, if she touched a_ hair _on their heads—_

But as I skid into the dark throne room, lit only by the faint embers of the torches lining the walls, I see a figure seated on the steps of the dais.

“Yllowei?” My voice quavers, and I hate myself for it.

A raspy chuckle comes from the silhouette.

Fear trickles through me, but I shove it off and concentrate. The torches roar to life, and I pluck flame from each, spinning it larger until there’s a vast fireball floating in the middle of the room.

“What did you do with the kids!?” I shout, knowing that it’s going to be a minute or two more before the court arrives to help me. No one’ll save me if she attacks me. Samn’s in the nursery, and I don’t know how long it’ll take him to search it. He heard my shout though, doubtless.

“So he’s kept his promise,” she mutters, burying her head in her hands.

“What…? What did you say?” I croak, caught off guard. I take a few wary steps towards her. She doesn’t move. I step closer.

“Fiyr, don’t take another damn step!” Samn shouts from across the throne room. “Yllowei! Freeze! You hurt him and you’ll be dead before you know what’s happening!”

“Relax, I’m not after your precious carrot,” Yllowei grunts, heaving herself to her feet.

I relax slightly. She’s hurting no one in her state, but Samn’s not backing down. His olive eyes are narrowed to flinty slits.

Without glancing away from Yllowei, I ask, “Are the kids okay?”

“Sleeping soundly,” he mutters. “For now.”

“The kids?!” Yllowei exclaims, and the faint light from my dying fireball illuminates a silver glint on her weathered cheek. “It’s so easy for him to destroy everything… And everyone believed him.”

I falter. “Did you hurt anyone?”

“Why would I?” Yllowei’s expression lights in fury, and she curls her lip. Samn looks like he’s ready to dash over and knock her out, but I’m focused on the elderly woman. “Think I left Shodawa because their vegetables weren’t fresh enough?”

I blink. “You might be a spy.”

“For a scumbag like King Braukkiniaum? Fat chance,” she snaps. “Alright, you want me to prove it? Hey kiddies, do you know what his life-force is?”

I exchange a glance with Samn, but we both know that the life-forces of anyone prominent, or who might have the chance to become prominent, are secrets that most do their best to keep. Rumours circulate, but things are never confirmed. Is Yllowei actually going to…

“Blood.” She spits on the floor, her voice a hoarse rasp in the silent throne room. My fireball’s barely a flickering candle flame now that my concentration has all but evaporated, and that revelation makes it wink out. She’s left as a dimly-lit silhouette before us. “He can manipulate blood.”

An involuntary chill slides down my spine like a finger of ice.

I exchange a glance with Samn, and beyond the heavy layer of suspicion and skepticism I see a glimmer of instinctual fear.

“So.” She heaves herself up—limping and disheveled she’s still a fearsome sight—and grunts, “Once you’ve seen the strongest knights your beautiful kingdom has to offer reduced to snivelling brats, too weak to lift their arms, once you’ve seen the former ruler forced like a puppet to bow his proud head, once. You’ve. Seen. A monster slap a child with a whip of her own blood, then you can talk to me.”

We fall silent.

Yllowei Fennen’s eyes glint fiercely, but then a moment later, a heavy sigh escapes her body. “But of course, as is the nature of humans, the heartbeat fear is ignited, we toss reason to the wind and form an angry mob of idiots.”

The sardonic twist of her gnarled lips doesn’t even falter as Tigre Cawle and a legion of Thundrian knights burst through the castle doors, completely ignoring Goldanna Flourer, the supposed guard, as she jerks awake with a guilty look.

Yllowei meets the furious man’s gaze coolly, but before either can speak, Frostialla breaks away and sprints towards the nursery. Lady Fennen watches her go with an inscrutable expression.

Feeling awkward standing just off to the side between Tigre and Yllowei, I hurry back to where Ravne’s peeking out from behind Sir Strommer. Samn follows.

“Nobody saw you leave—everyone was panicking about Yllowei,” Ravne informs me, almost inaudibly, answering before I even ask.

Rynnin Wynnd appears in the doorway of the stairs leading to the knights’ wing, in sleep-clothes and looking half-awake at most. “What’s going on?”

“ _King_ Braukkiniaum asked for hunting rights to our territories,” Liang Teyl tells him, spitting the honorific like it’s a curse.

“And there’s a dangerous outlaw that’s going to hurt our children, _more importantly!_ ” Willowamina Peilte snaps, thrusting a finger towards Yllowei, who folds her arms.

As though this testimony is all the proof he needs, Sir Cawle moves with surprising speed towards Yllowei and points his sword at her.

Before the situation can escalate, the queen makes her way through the crowded court and clears her throat coldly. Tigre turns his head slightly to bring her into his field of vision.

“I do not recall giving the order to harm her,” she says slowly.

The court falls silent, waiting to see how Sir Cawle will react, but once again he’s interrupted as Frostialla Fuor return from the nursery, her gown gathered in one hand to ease her run.

“The children are safe!” she announces, out of breath.

My hand curls into a fist and I fight the urge to demand why she thought they wouldn’t be, but the queen beats me to it.

“Of course they are,” she snaps, and Frostialla looks taken aback by her harsh tone.

“Will we throw out Lady Fennen?” Lady Fuor proposes quietly, rage simmering in her blue eyes.

Darriek Styrp, his gray and black streaked hair shining with oil in the torchlight, steps forwards, a hand on the pommel of _Darkstripe_. “We can’t afford to leave her roaming the forests! I say we slit her throat.”

The queen looks a hairbreadth from rolling her eyes, but merely waves a hand and says coolly, “It seems that my memory may be fading, as I do not recall Braukkin naming _Lady Fennen_ as the so called outlaw.”

Even not being raised in the court my whole life, casually referring to Shodawa’s king so informally is a shrewd move by the queen. She’s not afraid of him.

“She will be safe in our castle until further information is brought to light,” Queen Bluelianna announces, the steely set of her jaw not brooking further argument.

Yllowei lets out a dry cackle that puts everyone on more of an edge than ever. “I can leave if your court is so set on it.”

Darriek looks like he’s about to burst with all that he wants to say, but the queen speaks first.

“You are not what needs to be feared, and will therefore have no punishment enacted upon you,” she says with an air of finality. “The threat is Braukkiniaum, and we will not waste our time chasing stray rumours when it seems that our court will stand alone against him.”  
“And as to his request?” Tigre demands. The burly knight’s lowered his sword, but he still seems to be seething with contained anger.

“Of course not,” she says dismissively. “He will not pierce the flesh of a Thundrian deer whilst there is breath in my body. He is mad as well as cruel if he believes Thundria will cave to such petty demands.”

Another calculated dismissal. She knows that the whole court’s practically wetting the bed at the thought of the dark king of Shodawa, and fear, as Yllowei said, is one of the most dangerous weapons.

“How will we defend against all of Shodawa?” Samal Eyre, a tiny wizened man croaks from the back of the crowd.

“By fighting with blood and steel and every drop of life-force at our disposal,” the queen declares, slamming her sceptre into the ground with a resounding _crack_. “I intend to travel to the Lunar Temple, accompanied by Sir Liyon Hartef. The Starlaxi will show me the way forward in this dark time.”

I spot Graie halfway across the throne room and edge towards him. As the court disperses, most heading to the knights’ wing to sleep, though some sticking around to murmur in low tones about the events of the Gathering.

“What’s the Lunar Temple?” I mutter, feeling like an imbecile again. It’s a vaguely familiar term; I get the feeling we probably went over it during some lesson I assumed was pointless and therefore tuned out of.

“Have you ever paid attention in your life?” he teases, seeming to be in relatively good spirits considering the events of the Gathering. “The Lunar Temple is a sacred underground temple to the Starlaxi. Monarchs go there to receive the Nine Blessings, and squires are usually sent to initiate their communication with the Starlaxi. Sometimes it unlocks a deeper level of life-force, sometimes it’s just weird and confusing. It’s also where the gemstones and metal for life-force rings grow. There’s a central chamber with this giant white diamond with all the gems and metal inside it, growing. They disappear when they’re summoned by the Starlaxi Sceptres of the four kingdoms during a knighting ceremony.”

I nod, feeling the information almost instantly leave my brain. “Look at you, brainy boy.”

He sticks his tongue out, and then his mouth opens wider as a giant yawn stretches across his face. “Blessed Starlaxi, I need to go assault my sheets before I pass out on the floor.”

I giggle, half at his antics and half at plain relief that Yllowei isn’t a traitor, and help him comically stagger back to the squire’s wing. Duss is sitting in one of the common room’s chairs, watching the entrance with an irritable expression.

As Graie begins to repeat what he heard of the events of the Gathering to his sour half-brother, I’m alerted by a low, rumbly voice coming from a few feet from the squire’s wing. It’s in one of the hallways.

Creeping closer, I pinpoint it as in the hallway between the squires’ wing and the knights’ wing. Two forms are silhouetted in the dim light of the sparse torches.

One tall lanky, and one as tall but twice as wide. Sir Cawle and Ravne. I take another soft step, curious.

“Just make sure it never happens again,” Sir Cawle growls, and Ravne nods. I can’t make out their expression, but Ravne is almost cowering and his body language makes me sure this isn’t a friendly exchange.

Seeming to have finished, Tigre sets off down the hall towards the knights’ wing, and Ravne heads towards me. I duck away.

_He was probably talking during the Gathering or something,_ I decide, ignoring the twinge of foreboding. _Sir Cawle probably didn’t want to embarrass him in front of everyone._

My musings are interrupted as the captain of the guard, one Sir Liyon Hartef enters the squires’ wing, the doorway dwarfed by his imposing frame.

“Graie and Fiyr, your squirehood visit to the Lunar Temple will take place tomorrow,” Sir Hartef announces. “Ravne and Samn will accompany you as a guard.”

Duss’s jaw lolls open with surprise and anger, but the blond man has exited the wing before the boy can protest.

“Life’s not fair,” Graie snickers, elbowing his half-brother and then jumping out of the way as Duss takes a retaliatory swing at his head.

Before they actually start wrestling on the floor, Sir Hartef re-enters with a guilty expression. “Also, almost forgot, go get your travelling herbs from Spottalia Lief.”

Leaving Duss to sulk, the four of us take the back hallway into the healer’s wing.

“Travelling herbs please!” Graie calls out cheerfully, and the healer springs from her desk.

Her face is twisted into sharp lines of anxiety, but she smiles and takes in her arms four beeswax paper bundles of ostensibly travelling herbs. She passes me mine with a familiar smile and I smile back. _I should visit her more often. I think we could be friends._

Samn heads out the door quickly, his boots clicking on the stone. Following the group, I hurry down the hallway.

“Someone’s got a crush,” Graie singsongs, and I punch him lightly in the back of the head.

“Do not!”

“That’s illegal,” Samn deadpans.

…

Just as we’re preparing to blow out our candles, I hear Graie shuffling around in the nook next to me, the heavy curtain between us only showing a faint outline of his form.

“Hope the herbs won’t be too bad,” he mumbles.

“How far’s the journey?” I ask quietly, staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s at the base of the silver peaks,” he responds. “We take a tunnel down into the mountains. Every squire’s gotta do it before they’re knighted.”

I fall silent, pulling the blankets tighter around me. _In the mountains? Those little things on the horizon? That’ll be the farthest I’ve ever gone… Outside Thundria. Never thought I’d actually go anywhere further than the gods’ gardens._

As my eyes flutter shut, I can’t help thinking that I’m a long way from home.


	15. Chapter 14 - Fiyr

Chapter 14 - Fiyr

There’s a hazy fog around everything.

The only thing I can clearing see is a beautiful, shimmering crystal, glittering with white light and searing my vision. It flickers prismatically, filled with millions of tiny bubbles of colour and threads of metallic shimmers.

I squint, but my vision is spotty from the brightness. I can’t move, I can’t speak, I can only stare at the crystal. The air is heavy and earthy around me, like breathing straight fog, and I find myself choking for air, and sinking to my knees.

The world tips sideways as I pass out.

Then my ears explode with screams.

I choke out a pained cry of my own at the assault on my senses as I roll onto my back, only to be trampled by giant, hulking shadowy figures as they charge into battle. But it’s not a battle, it’s a hunt, and I’m hurtling through the woods behind them.

The dark forms of the shadow-knights begin to hack and slash their way through the fallen group of warriors that we’ve come to.

I recognize them. Their terror-stricken faces flash, Sir Wynnd, Lady Fyrra, Lady Fuor, Sir Teyl, all wide-open with screams and twisted in horror and pain. _Where’s Sir Hartef and Sir Cawle?! They can help!_ I think foggily, but the two knights are nowhere to be seen.

I hear a familiar voice.

Graie’s anguished howl echoes in my ears.

“Graie!” I scream out, and then I wake up.

…

“Fiyr? Are you alright?” It’s the low grunt of my mentor, Sir Cawle.

I’m shaking from the dream, or maybe shaking because he’s got a meaty hand around me and is agitating my shoulders.

“Bizarre dream, I’m fine,” I mumble once I’ve got my bearings back, wiping the sleep out of my bleary eyes with the back of my hand. He pulls away and stands up, looking down at me.

“Well, get up. Queen Bluelianna is ready to depart for the Lunar Temple shortly. Wake the other squires,” he orders, and turns sharply to leave me to my dressing.

I dress quickly then quietly knock against the wall by each squire’s nook to alert them.

Ravne bursts out immediately, still in his ragged sleep-clothes, hair wild, but relaxes when he sees me and disappears behind the curtain to dress. Waking Graie proves more difficult; the guy could sleep through a hurricane.

I knock him over the head with a textbook of kingdom lore that he was definitely not actually reading, gently of course, and he snaps awake with a, “Huh, whazza?”

Gathering my resolve, I tiptoe towards where Samn and Duss share two neighbouring nooks. It’ll be tricky to wake up Samn without also disturbing Duss, so I push back the curtain gently. _Just break up his sleep a bit and Duss’ll never be wiser._

I’m momentarily distracted by how peaceful Samn looks, nearly angelic while his face isn’t twisted in condescension and scorn, then an idea strikes me.

_Sir Cawle didn’t say_ how _to wake the other squires…_

A devious plan begins to form.

_He deserves it, right? Just a harmless prank; not like he hasn’t done worse…_

Ducking out of the squire’s wing and heading for the kitchens, I fetch a glass quickly and fill it with ice-cold water, then creep back into the squires’ wing. _No harm, no foul…_

I’ve pushed the curtains of Samn’s nook aside delicately when I see that he’s rolled over. _What’s the point in pouring water on the back of his head? No… I have to roll him back over…_

Holding my breath, I gently take hold of his shoulder and pull him onto his back. His unconscious body limply complies, and I line up the water glass with his face, and…

A hand flies up and grips my hand, closing like a vice around it.

A scream dies in my throat before it can even start as Samn claps his other hand along with a leather hilt across my mouth.

“Shh, don’t want to wake up Duss, do we?” he practically croons.

I realize that the leather hilt is attached to a small, cruelly curved dagger.

Not caring as the water in the glass sloshes over across the front of my tunic, I jump backwards. Samn’s grip tightens around my wrist and I stifle a whimper, instead settling for a hopefully intimidating scowl.

“Let go or I’ll splash you,” I hiss as menacingly as I can.

“More than you’ve splashed yourself?” he points out with a snort, then drops my wrist. “I assume, following orders like a good god-toy, you were ‘waking me up’?”

I bite back a growl at the hypocrisy, then give him a winsome smile. “Yup! Glad you’re ready to go! Get dressed, we’re leaving in thirty seconds.”

It’s not true, but I grasp at any possibility of catching him off guard.

“And that’s why Sir Cawle told you to wake the other squires up one minute before we left, I’m sure,” Samn returns, equally amiably with a serpentine smirk. “Good try.”

I stomp out of the room.

…

The travelling group converges in the throne room, where I see the queen has changed attire drastically. In my paltry years at the kingdom, the queen has hardly ever been in anything other than ceremonial robes and dresses, other than the very first day when I saw her in the regular Thundrian training uniform.

I’ve studied all the big wars and voyages, but the focus usually isn’t on the attire and it takes me off guard when I see that she’s wearing a black cloak edged in red, buttoning down the front and then blooming out from her hips, and some kind of beige pants with more pockets than I can count.

Suffice to say, I am desperate to try it on.

When Graie enters in his rumpled training uniform, my heart falls as it becomes clear that only the queen seems to have special travelling uniform.

Sir Cawle is wearing the standard uniform, though he has a large bundle of brown, coarse fabric in his arms and begins handing them out to us.

They’re heavy cloaks, though simply the type to drape around one’s shoulders.

“It gets cold on the moors. Eat your herbs,” the queen says softly, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular as though she’s deep in thought.

Mine doesn’t fit, and I hoist it around my waist to try to at least allow for walking. Samn’s doesn’t either; his only makes it to just underneath his knees before it cuts off. Neither of us suggests switching.

I internally sulk that Samn’s looks like the queen’s because of the fit, whereas these cloaks are obviously meant to fall below the shin, if Sir Tigre, Ravne, and Graie’s are any standard to measure against.

“Squires, meet us beneath the castle,” the queen interrupts my musings. “Make sure you’ve eaten all the herbs.”

I guiltily stuff the handful of leaves into my mouth and start chewing, then fight off a wince as the tongue-curlingly bitter flavour.

“Why can’t we have a proper breakfast and then just take food with us?” Graie whines.

“It’s not your place to question these things,” Sir Cawle reprimands him, but the queen gives an indulgent smile.

“It’s quite alright. The reason is that it will keep your hunger away for longer and they’ll make the long ride easier. We need to make good time, so the fewer bags to carry the better,” the queen explains, striding towards the doors of the castle, giving a nod to Brindellia Faise on her way by, who waves cheerfully to her and her son. “Besides, you’re better off than me. It’s hard to commune with the Starlaxi if you’re not on an empty stomach, so I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“Safe journey!” Sir Hartef calls out as we walk across the castle terrace.

Graie and I fetch Quicksilver and Blitz from the stables, and Samn and Ravne lead Dune and Indigo to the break in the foliage and promptly disappeared.

“Eatmy looks just as upset as Duss,” Graie jokes, and I snort because it’s true. Eatmy, Duss’s horse, paws and huffs at the ground as her companions are led away.

Once the whole group is assembled at the bottom of the trees, we set off towards Wynnd. It’s a path I know well, though we’ve never crossed the solstice pavilion onto their territory of course, only had little glimpses into the land.

We’ve been riding for a few hours and the sun climbs into the sky lazily when we finally reach the solstice pavilion and ride across it to Wynnder territory. Miles of fields and hills spread out in front of us, little stretches of farmland and towns dwarfed by the vastness of the open sky.

“Be careful. We do no wrong by crossing, but that was Wynnd’s rule, and there’s no telling how far Shodawa will go,” Queen Bluelianna warns, and I shudder despite the sun. “We’d best cross quickly. Everyone steady?”

I nod, knowing that however sore my backside is, nothing’s worth slowing down the queen’s need to confide in our ancestors.

“Clear!” Sir Cawle declares, and we set off a gallop.

It’s terrifying to finally let Blitz free on flatlands, and I sense her exhilaration. The only one in our group who seems to share it is Samn, who cackles with glee as Dune whips across the moor.

Queen Bluelianna and Sir Cawle’s faces are set with anxiety, and Graie and Ravne are exchanging worried glances. I’m just trying not to puke.

Half an hour later, the peaks of the mountains tower against the horizon, and Sir Cawle calls out in a low hiss, “Shodawa!”

The queen instantly spurs Lazuli into a full sprint, and we make it through the last part almost twice as quickly as the rest. The rest of us hurry after her, and my stomach flips in protest.

When we pass the Wynnder border that separates their territory from the world outside, marked with the Wynnder life-force visible even without going into the Trace, the queen stops her horse abruptly.

“Halt!” Sir Cawle shouts, and with some awkward swerving, everyone dismounts without injuring anyone.

I double over and puke.

“Oh great,” Samn snaps scornfully.

“Let’s move a little ways away and find shelter for the horses,” the queen intervenes diplomatically.

Spitting out the remnants of my bile, I scowl at Samn and we lead out steeds towards a shadier patch of trees.

The mountains are colossal from up close. I expected as much, obviously, but the feeling of looking straight up and not being able to see the top makes my stomach turn uncomfortably.

“We’ll cross the soulpath and enter the Temple at sundown,” the queen declares, tying Lazuli to a tree. The gray mare munches peacefully on oats from the queen’s saddlebag as though she wasn’t wildly sprinting across the moorlands less than a few minutes ago.

Sir Cawle nods, and leads his horse, Edge, to another tree. Following suit, the squires and I help to set up camp for the day.

The queen unloads the meagre packings that we strapped to the horses, only breakfast for tomorrow and a few tightly rolled pads of weaved rushes, presumably for Ravne and Samn to sleep on outside.

After a few hours of lazing about in the sun with Graie as Ravne buries his nose in a book he produced from thin air and Samn goes off a little ways on his own, Queen Bluelianna finally calls us over to head into the Temple.

Nerves twist in my stomach. _I’ll finally see the Starlaxi in all their blessed glory… but we have to cross the soulpath first._

As we approach the glass trail, the setting sun reflects oranges and gold off the pearly surface.

The air above the glass fizzles with hot white energy sporadically as the pure souls of gods whip past us. The tang of god-magic is harsh on my tongue, with a different taste than usual; strangely spicy and dry, making my mouth feel like it’s shrivelling.

I cough involuntarily, and Sir Cawle gives me a surprisingly sympathetic look.

“Ravne, why don’t you cross first?” the burly knight suggests abruptly, giving his ex-squire a harsh stare.

“I—I—okay,” he stammers and takes a tentative step towards the path.

“I had better show them how first,” the queen countermands immediately, stepping up next to Ravne and gently pushing him back. I catch my breath as I notice that the star on her forehead is reacting to being this close to the Lunar Temple. Usually, it only seems iridescent if it catches the light at a certain moment, but it’s positively glittering now.

She stands at the edge of the path, though her boot tips don’t even graze the pearly glass; she’s careful to stay on the long grass. Unfazed by the heady magic or fizzing of the god souls flying past, she clasps her hands together in front of her and closes her eyes.

As she holds that position, blue light begins to softly light her from underneath, then an ice-cold wind whips up and her cloak and hair flare around her.

An instant later, she’s tense and bracing, then she half-dives half-charges across the path in a burst of shards of ice and snowflakes.

The cold, bitter wind she produced stings my cheeks briefly, and I watch as she turns to face us, her form’s edges dashed by the shimmers of souls.

“You need to interrupt their magic!” she calls across. “Use yours and imagine placing a stone in a river to block the flow. Then don’t waste any time getting yourself across.”  
Graie steps forward, clasping his hands the same way nervously. His eyes flutter shut, but for several tense moments, nothing happens.

Then gray light begins to weakly flicker at the edges of his coarse brown cloak, but not nearly bright enough. It comes in and out, like sunlight filtering through tree branches, before something seems to click and his whole body flares silver and he takes up a running stance, more like a moorhen then the queen’s crouching tiger, but all the same, ash bursts from the ground of the soulpath, warding off the souls.

Graie charges across, not a heartbeat too soon as the soul pierce the ash and shoot across.

He’s panting, but bursting with pride and whoops, “Yeah! Easy as pie.”

Samn goes next, his body glowing with weak yellow light, and throws up a layer of sand in front of the souls.

He’s only made two _clink_ ing steps onto the path when the souls finally press through the tiny gaps of the sandy wall and his cloak tears.

Unimpeded, he sprints across the last few metres, before dropping to his knees.

“Samn!” The queen runs to his side and yanks off the cloak to reveal a long, bleeding gash on his pale arm. After a moment, she looks up at us and calls out, “It’s alright! It’s shallow, and I have bandages.”

To his credit, he seems to barely be wincing, though he rolls over and cradles his arm, unfazed as his own blood drips over his fingers.

“Ravne!” Sir Cawle shouts. “Go!”

The squire is trembling so hard he can barely make it to the edge, and I silently pray to the Starlaxi to help him cross.

Hands shaking, he presses them together and closes his eyes, heavy black lashes fluttering shut in a look of intense concentration.

Almost immediately, purple and black light begins to dance across him like the Blacklands themselves are shining over him. His arms tense as he pushes his hands tighter together, and there’s a bursting cry of ravens as they begin to flit across the sides of the path, cutting off the souls’ transit.

Ravne, after a moment of hesitation, begins to run, then stop abruptly on the path, staring in horror as the souls that bash into the wall of ravens kill the birds, the bodies _thunk_ ing dully on the glass. More appear, saving Ravne from being shattered by the impact of a soul, but he’s not moving.

“Ravne! Fucking _go!_ ” Sir Cawle snarls, and his squire stumbes forwards a few steps, enough to save him as the flock of ravens cease and the bodies disappear.

He stares back across the path wildly, searching for the bodies of the ravens, and finding none, drops to the ground, spindly legs collapsing in front of him as he sits and stares at the path.

“I’ll cross last!” Sir Cawle calls across the path.

_Which means it’s my turn_.

Trying not to let my knees knock together, I walk to the edge of the path and gather my hands in front of me. I concentrate and feel the warmth of my own body. _Go outside. Come on, come out and warm the air up..._

I can feel the heat rolling off me, but I don’t know if it’s enough. My eyes are closed; is there fire stopping the souls? Can I go?

_I can’t open my eyes unless I’m going and I can’t go unless I know that it’s safe and I can’t know if it's safe unless I open my eyes!_

Taking a deep breath, I put my faith in the Starlaxi and charge forwards blindly.

It’s deafeningly loud inside.

My steps falter as the roar of my fire and the sharp _pop_ s of the souls crashing against the wall of flame disorients me.

“Not you too!” Sir Cawle yells.

I feel the yell crack through my concentration. The fire’s about to dissolve, I’m going to die, I’m going to get smushed…

Two strong hands connect with my back, and the roar of the fire ceases as Tigre Cawle shoves me across the rest of the soulpath and onto the grass on the other side. I stumble down and land on my knees.

I yelp, but my throat immediately closes up with relief. _That was way too close._

“Got distracted?” Samn sneers.

“You’re one to bloody talk!” I snap back.

To my dumbfounded surprise, he flicks his arm at me and sends a shower of red drops onto my tunic.

“Now you’re one bloody too!” he exclaims with a weird high laugh.

“I gave him a sedative,” the queen tells me, rooting through her bag for the bandages. “No corruption, thank the Starlaxi.”

There’s a thump on the grass as Sir Cawle makes it as well.

The queen passes him the tightly rolled sleeping pads and we walk the last few minutes to get to the bottom of the silver peaks. White pillars support the yawning entrance of a cavern that I suppose to be the front door of the Lunar Temple.

“Sir Cawle, Ravne, and Samn, you will take shifts keeping watch while we are inside,” she directs, then nods to Graie and I. “Let’s go; it’s time.”

…

The first thing I notice about the Lunar Temple is that it’s gigantic.

The first chamber gives the impression of a long-abandoned throne room or great hall. Large white pillars stretch up like ghostly tree trunks to support the cracked marble roof.

Even the ancient and decrepit room gives the impression of incredible power and tranquility. It’s like wading through stone, peaceful and silent.

The queen’s mind seems elsewhere, but Graie and I exchange glances of wonder, looking up to see the vast, arching ceiling. We proceed into one of the more inner chambers, which is much like the first, only smaller. There’s a strange sculpture thing in the middle of the room which I realize as we pass it is actually a fountain. I’m sure it’s been dried up for centuries. We’ve only been walking for about five minutes when we reach another large chamber, though this one isn’t deserted. In fact, only a thin stretch of floor rings around the massive crystal in the centre of the room.

Graie immediately steps back, but I’m entranced.

The vast diamond glitters from within, hundreds of thousands of tiny, shimmering gems casting points of colourful light against the room’s walls.

I squint against the light, and see what appears to be tiny glittering strands of metal twisting through the diamond, around the gems.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

It’s familiar too; the dream returns to me, and I feel a chill at the memory of the hulking shadows and the screams of other people at the court. _I hope this is the only part of the dream that becomes reality..._

Queen Bluelianna steps into the room reverently, and kneels in front of the diamond. After a moment, she begins to murmur something inaudible.

Graie and I watch uncertainly as she leans forwards and rests her forehead against the pure light of the diamond. It takes me a moment to realize that’s also where the star on her forehead is located.

On instinct alone, I walk over carefully and kneel beside her. She’s still murmuring, but her body has gone limp like the crystal alone is supporting her.

After a beat, Graie copies me and we sit in silence for a moment.

I shift uncomfortably, and it’s like an electric shock as my forehead tilts down a little to better connect to the diamond.

Cold sweeps through my body and I fall into a deep, dark sleep.

…

I’m awoken by the queen frantically shaking me awake.

“We need to get back to the castle immediately!”


	16. Chapter 15 - Samn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a shorter chapter today, but still sweet! We return to Samn’s perspective. What a great day to thank aer-of-ice for beta reading, and to thank you all for reading! Stay safe with this whole virus thing going around; wash your hands, don't touch your face, and of course, stay inside and read fanfiction!

Chapter 15 - Samn

I’m getting antsy.

Sir Cawle’s decided we should stay up to wait for them to return, but I just want to curl up in my cot and forget this whole day. Whatever the queen gave me for my shoulder, I can barely keep my eyes open because of it.

Speaking of which, it still bites under all the numbing. It’s actually starting to get a bit itchy. I want to squeeze the cut, but I know it’ll only make it worse.

I feel… guilty’s not the right word. I suppose just embarrassed. But there _is_ a tinge of guilt, somewhere in there. Is the queen regretting her choice to lie to protect me? If only we could just stop everything right where it is. The minute Graie, Ravne, Duss, and Fiyr hit their growths, it’s all going to come crawling out of the shadows. _Girl, girl, girly girl._

And I obviously can’t even use my life-force properly.

“Well? What knowledge did the _blessed_ Starlaxi have to grace us with today?” Sir Cawle asks as Fiyr, Graie, and the queen finally exit the cavern. He’s still playing his little life-force game with himself; throwing a coin into the air and sharpening it to a knife-sharp tip, then as it plummets towards his hand, dulling it into a round disc once more.

“I suspect we’ll all know soon enough,” Queen Bluelianna murmurs.

It’s almost midnight; whatever the Starlaxi told the queen, it can’t have taken too long to get across. I’m almost painfully curious; a wonderful distraction from the real pain of my shoulder and internal struggle.

Ravne’s been sitting next to the campfire, watching it intently, and only looks up when Graie and Fiyr plop down next to him. Graie and Ravne strike up a friendly, low-voiced conversation but now it’s Fiyr entranced by the fire.

I look away, only further reminded. Queen Bluelianna and Sir Cawle are speaking rapidly and quietly by the entrance to the Temple, and—a trickle of unease running down my back—I hurry away to sit next down by my fellow squires.

“So what’s it like in there?” I ask gruffly after a moment, my pride crumbling under the weight of curiosity.

“Giant. Kinda old,” Graie volunteers. He’s already got a lump of food in his mouth; it’s like he can pull it out of thin air.

“Incredible,” Fiyr says, sounding dazed, still fixated on the fire.

_Figures he’d be a vague little shit about this,_ I think vindictively. To hide my jealousy, I feign casual indifference. “Cool. The Starlaxi tell you anything?”

They both shake their heads.

Graie swallows and adds, “But the queen seemed pretty freaked out about whatever she saw in there.”

I glance sharply back towards Sir Cawle and Queen Bluelianna, still locked in deep discussion, and feel the same twinge of unease. _What could he be so eager to know?_

“Why is the Starlaxi’s Temple so far out?” Fiyr asks suddenly. “Why isn’t it in the solstice pavilion, closer to the kingdoms?”

Graie is chewing still. Sighing, I answer. “Too strong; the combined power of the Lunar Crystal and the pillars of the four kingdoms would have… er, weird effects on the surrounding area.”

“Like what?” he questions.

_Ugh_. “Giant trees, rivers bursting from the ground, frequent and devastating storms… the maiorum had kingdoms closer to it. Their castles—”

“Maiorum,” he echoes. “Someone was talking about those at the Gathering; what are they?”

“We’re descended from them; greater beings with stronger magic. There were three kinds; Mers, the ones with the Trace, Sers, the ones with the connection to the Starlaxi, and Wers, the ones with physical strength and sword fighting,” I explain, remembering dull history lessons with Sir Strommer. _They won’t be boring now that the queen to teach me!_ A thrill of excitement returns to me at the memory of the change in mentorship.

“What happened to them?” Fiyr questions, breaking me out of my reverie.

I grit my teeth. “Full of questions, aren’t you?”

“Oi, watch it, Sandy,” Graie snaps back, seeming to have finished off whatever he was chewing on.

I whip around to deliver a snap of my own, but Fiyr’s already talking. “Come on, Graie, he’s probably just tired.”  
I look away awkwardly. _Since when does he defend me?_ “I can defend myself,” I grunt.

Awkward silence hangs in the air until Ravne of all people breaks it. “When did you first demonstrate, Fiyr? In the gods’ manor?”

The red-haired boy glances at him. “Demonstrate? I—er, that’s…”

He seems to be floundering, and I’m not eager to jump to his aid. _So… is he trying to say he didn’t demonstrate? Then how did he know he had power in the life-force?_ I’d almost forgotten all about the strange moment on his first day. _The queen said something strange about his life-force… what was it?_

It’s a strange situation; god-toys aren’t supposed to have any life-force ability; the gods supposedly clip their spirits when they’re young to avoid them being able to use the life-force, but evidently that didn’t happen to Fiyr. Why is he being so cagey about his demonstration, then?

“Could you use it when you were at the gods’?” I ask off-handedly, but it’s a loaded question. _Everyone demonstrates before the age of twelve. He came to Thundria when he_ was _twelve, so if he didn’t demonstrate before that… then there’s something_ really _weird going on._

“I—demonstrating?” he asks weakly. _We’ve had life-force lessons together before; he knows what demonstrating is._ I let out an exasperated sigh through my teeth. But if it helps us to figure this out, I’ll humour him.

“Demonstrating is the process by which the innate life-force in a young child manifests itself in a giant show of life-force,” I rattle off. “It is a measure of the strongest life-force access they will attain in their lifetime. And I’m wondering when that happened to you.”

Fiyr’s green eyes dart from side to side. “Well, er, it was—”

Graie jumps in. “Look, why does it matter?!” I squint at him, evaluating. _He doesn’t know what Fiyr’s hiding, but he’d still defend it?_

I narrow my eyes at Fiyr, hoping to intimidate him. “I’m simply asking.”

It must have been rather magnificent. After all, at the age of fourteen, he’s got surprising power. In a few years, I have no idea what he’ll attain.

Brindellia’s told me stories of my demonstration. A sandstorm, that raged for days, ending with heaps of prey outside the castle. It’s something to work towards, something to remember when Fiyr’s being oh-so-wonderful at life-force. But his demonstration…

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” Fiyr mumbles, crossing his arms and staring into the fire. As we sit in silence, it begins to twist and spiral, almost like dancing.

_Yeah, yeah, you’re great at life-force…_ I think bitterly, looking away and staring across the land towards Wynnd’s moors. _Whatever._

Graie chuckles to himself and throws out a hand. From the base of the campfire spirals a thin strand of gray, then another, then more as the ashes rise in a dance mimicking the fire, like a pale shadow.

Ravne claps his hands with a childish laugh. “You two are made for each other.” He lifts up a hand delicately into the air and as the fire flickers across it—illuminating and then releasing it to the shadows—it illuminates a sleek black body.

With a little cry of greeting, the raven ruffles its wings and settles onto Ravne’s hand with a pleased little _caw_.

“Alright, show-offs,” I grumble.

“You can do sand,” Fiyr says blankly.

“Brilliant observation,” I retort. “What’s it to you?”

He stretches out a hand, inches from the fire, and a ball creeps out to land in his palm. He stares into it, concentrating, but nothing’s happening to it. “Try putting some sand in this fire!” he exclaims suddenly.

Rolling my eyes, I flick a lump off the ground around us and land it in his hand.

“Ow!” he exclaims as it lands. “Hot! Make it float above my hand!”

“You don’t have to order me,” I snap, raising it off of his palm. A glowing ball floats above his hand, ensconced in flame.

“Can you model things out of sand?” he questions, still staring into the sand that’s now glowing orange.

“I suppose,” I reply coolly, waving my hand and shaping the sand - which is hardly sand at all anymore - into a small songbird.

Before I can wonder if I should have picked something more… _manly_? Fiyr releases the flame and a small, clear object drops into his hand.

“Hot!” he yelps again. I flick it back up into the air, noting that it’s far from sand anymore. “What… did you do?” I squint at it.

“Glass!” he exclaims proudly.

“You just melted it; I did all the work,” I snip to cover my curiosity. “What, you want me to make you a necklace or something?”

He giggles. “No, I just think it’s cool!”

Ignoring him, I slowly let the glass figure drop into my palm. It’s warm, but not scalding. Examining it in the firelight, I note the imperfections along the wing. _Too much rounding, doesn’t look like feathers…_

I toss it to Ravne. “Work your birdy magic on it.”

“You want me to turn it into a bird?” he demands, turning it over in his hands. “I don’t think I can do that- ow!”

Sir Cawle’s looming behind us suddenly. I look at Ravne’s palm, drawing a sharp breath at the glistening pearl of blood that has bloomed on his hand. _I must’ve made the beak too sharp. Or…_

“Get some rest. We travel back at dawn,” Sir Cawle orders.

Our life-force demonstration contest cuts off immediately and we all prepare hurriedly for sleep. _After midnight until dawn? We’ll all be dead from exhaustion._

As I lie down, my shoulder pulses, reminding me of the soulpath. _We’re not out of the woods yet… the journey back might be just as bad. Or worse._

…

_Lo que yace en las sombras es el presagio de la luz._

_Darkness, all around me, a mirage fading under the blazing heat…_

I snap awake.

…

It’s early in the morning; too early. The sun isn’t up yet, the sky is dark gray and glittering with stars. Fiyr, Graie, and Ravne are all slumbering peacefully in their cots, and Sir Cawle and the queen are asleep on rush mats a couple feet away.

I sit up, and an unpleasant squirm in my stomach rushes down. _Wait._

As I sit, fear begins to crawl through my ribs, into my heart, and a claw of pain sinks into my stomach. _Ouch! What in the blacklands is that?!_

Staring down at my bedsheets, I spot a dark stain. _Fuck! I’m bleeding? My shoulder must be—oh… blessed Starlaxi._

I scramble to my feet, panic beginning to needle my thoughts. _No. No. Brindellia Faise said she got hers at sixteen, why is it here now?!_

Glancing back at my fellow squires, I suddenly feel nauseous. Stumbling into the bushes around the camp, I double over and the rations from last night get thrown out of me as I vomit. _Shit! What’s happening? I thought it’s just supposed to be blood! Why does it hurt like this?_

“Samn.” I feel a breath of relief rush out of me as the queen’s voice emerges softly from behind me.

“Your Majesty,” I croak, stomach twisting. My body feels too hot; like it’s boiling inside my skin. I need to pull it off, need to cool down…

“You’re alright.” Her steadying hand lays itself on my shoulder, and I take a deep, sour breath.

“I—I—it hurts!” I groan, clutching my ribs. It’s like a knife wedged in my torso.

“I’ll get you some poppy seeds to help you sleep. I brought some along just in case,” Queen Bluelianna promises. “I suppose you didn’t feel the cramps at first because of your shoulder…”

I huff, standing and wincing, trying to let the cool air soften the blazing uncomfortable state I’m in. My thoughts have been mostly reduced to: _It hurts. It hurts. It hurts._

“Here. Take these.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard the queen’s voice so soft. “Take the water.”

I take the small black seeds and drop them onto my tongue, washing them back with the water in the tight waterskin. The effect isn’t immediate and I groan, doubling over again.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t bring any bandages,” the queen informs me regretfully. “We’ll find them for you when we return to the castle. Until then, do you have an extra undershirt that you could take a strip of fabric from?”

“I—I think so,” I mutter, still feeling nauseous.

“Is everything alright?” _Damned Blacklands._ It’s Sir Cawle.

“He’s just a little nauseous from all the riding,” the queen tells the knight smoothly without missing a beat.

I breathe a sigh of relief as he nods and retreats back to his mat, but I don’t miss the tiniest narrowing of his eyes. _How much did he hear? Not enough to figure it out, surely._

The queen doesn’t look worried so much as… resigned. Without any warning, she wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me tightly to her chest. I hug her back awkwardly and wait for the pain to dissipate.

…

When I wake up, I already know that today is going to be dragged straight from the deepest, darkest crevice of the Blacklands.

I could only guess how bad it would get.


	17. Chapter 16 - Samn

Chapter 16 - Samn

When we set off, my stomach seems to have settled at least a bit. The poppy seeds are making my eyes begin to drift shut every few minutes but the queen is accommodating me with a steady, calm pace.

In between flashes of uncomfortable heat, I feel guilty. Whatever the queen heard at the Lunar Temple, it must have been important. And yet here she is, slowing our pace on my behalf.

_What if the kingdom…_

Sighing, I rub my nose. As the sun’s rising, the heat’s getting worse. Crossing the moor doesn’t leave much cover-wise, and the queen seems to know it. She leads us towards the trees and I breathe a sigh of relief.

With the cover of the small glade, the ride is more bearable. The trees that line the Wynnder border provide a thick overhead of leaves that block the worst of the heat. We’re making better time as the horses seem to appreciate the cover.

I’m finally starting to feel at ease again when the trees begin to thin and the telltale sharp heat of god-magic burns my tongue. _We must be near an estate._ Sure enough, within minutes a field comes into view, a sprawling manor on the other side of it.

I can almost _feel_ the sun beating down on my back at the prospect of the hours it would take to ride across the field. Thankfully, the queen seems to be leading us along the edge of the field, towards the manor and further from Wynnder territory.

“The mountain range should provide cover from the gods,” the queen says. “It’ll slow our journey but we can’t afford to risk it. An encounter with Shodawa now would be disastrous.”

No one questions her and the unspoken agreement to avoid Wynnder territory regardless of the delay hangs in the air.

The sun is making its way across the sky as we finally make it to the manor. The gigantic house is even more intimidating up close. I glance at Fiyr, trying to figure out what he must be feeling right now, but his forest-green eyes are inscrutably narrowed at it.

“Hail, travellers!” A cheerful call rings across the field to us.

As our heads turn to see who it is, a young man, lanky and tanned lopes up to us, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

He’s around a year, maybe two, older than us, if I had to guess. He doesn’t look like a fighter, but he doesn’t seem to be unfamiliar with hard work if his sweat-soaked brow is anything to go by.

_And his biceps,_ I think privately, biting the inside of my cheek and feeling heat creep up my neck.

“Barrleigh!” The queen says, sounding revived after the long journey. “It’s good to see you! My, you’ve grown!”

He laughs, ruffling his salt and pepper hair. “It’s a good thing too. Gods woulda kicked me out if I didn’t start learnin’ how to farm on Knave’s Moor. This your family?”

I stifle a snort at Sir Cawle’s affronted expression.

“No, some of my kingdom’s best and brightest,” the queen corrects him, cracking a half-smile at the implications.

“Yeah, Thundria, huh?” Despite his amiable tone, he seems to have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. “How… uh, how’s things?”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Sir Cawle begins, and I wince, knowing something rude’s coming, “but what exactly do you want?”

“A guy can’t catch up with his old buddies?” Barrleigh’s still warm, but his eyebrow’s cocked. I’m surprised that he doesn’t start cowering before Sir Cawle. “No harm, eh? Just making conversation.”

“We shouldn’t be away from the kingdom for long,” Bluelianna says, seeming to understand that the situation will need to be diffused.

“It was nice meeting you,” Ravne pipes up.

“Hey, nice meetin’ you too!” Barrleigh says, seeming to be glad to relieve the tension. He shakes Ravne’s hand, who continues to stare at the newcomer, awed.

“We should be going,” Sir Cawle half-growls, not seeming to like Ravne’s enthralled expression.

“Yes, it was lovely to see you again, Barrleigh. Don’t be a stranger!” Queen Bluelianna says, ushering us away.

“Well, now hang on, there,” he suddenly says, reaching out to us. “Careful by the mountains, eh? Gods’re talkin’ ‘bout some orcs sighted there sometime ago. Stay down by the caves, right?”

“ _Thank_ you,” Sir Cawle says firmly, his mouth a hard line.

“Jus’ givin’ you a heads up,” Barrleigh says, lifting his hands in a _‘what can you do’_ gesture.

“It is appreciated,” the queen says, shooting a look at Sir Cawle.

As we set off again, both Ravne and Tigre Cawle are glancing back at Barrleigh, though for different reasons. The queen raises her eyebrows at Sir Cawle, waiting for him to either say something or stop his little huffs.

“I don’t think we can trust him,” Sir Cawle eventually mutters.

“He’s never given us a reason not to,” Queen Bluelianna says softly. “We’ll stay by the caves.”

Sir Cawle’s nostrils flare but he says nothing.

…

We’ve been riding by the caves for around an hour now.

It’s definitely creepy. The setting sun casts long shadows over everything and the caves fade into complete darkness only a couple metres in, leaving my active imagination to fill in the gaps. _All kinds of creepy-crawlies that lurk in the shadows and drag themselves out at night to devour children…_

I shudder, trying to focus on the path ahead.

“Ravne, hurry up,” Sir Cawle snaps without even looking back.

I glance back to shoot him a sympathetic look.

Both Ravne and Indigo are gone.

“Sir Cawle!” I yelp before I can gather my thoughts. “They’re gone!”

“Who’s gone?” the queen demands, wheeling her horse around.

“Ravne and—”

And then they’re upon us. It’s like the sun has just very suddenly fallen below the horizon, darkness falling across the land.

I feel Dune buckle beneath me, and I narrowly avoid being crushed as I scramble off her, my heart beating out of my chest.

I hear a deep laugh and feel hot breath on my ear.

I whip around, unsheathing Bolt in the same motion and cutting through—mist. _Oh no. No, no, no, this is bad._

The same laughter. Inhuman.

“Queen Bluelianna!” I scream, trying to make out figures in the impenetrable darkness. “Sir Cawle? Fiyr? Graie? _Ravne?!_ ”

I can hear the others too now, calling out, shouting for help that’s not coming.

An ice-cold hand lands on my shoulder. No, not my shoulder, too close to my neck to be my shoulder. The neckline of the tunic.

Without thinking, I spin again and cut through the same nothingness. The hand disappears. _Vampires. Vampires. How do I fight them? Damned Blacklands, Samn,_ think _!_

I hear a scream. It’s too high to be Tigre but too mature to be one of the squires—

“My queen!” I yell, charging blindly into the darkness, but I trip and the world flips around me. The cold laughter is close, right above me, they’re coming—

The grass is wet and cold on my back. I scramble backwards, but they’re surging towards me and I have to defend myself.

I swing, still blind, but my sword connects with nothing.

“Blood,” one of them hisses.

_Fuck. What a terrible time of the month for vampires to attack._

I thrash harder, feeling a cold hand close around my calf, and kick with all the fight I have left.

Then suddenly, the world is lighting up around me.

Fire is blazing above us, being drawn from a thin stream from somewhere on the ground into a blossoming fireball high above our heads. _Fiyr, thank the Starlaxi._

I scream in the face of the creatures that are surrounding me, cut through the couple that have tried to pin me, and whip to my feet, grabbing a stick on the ground. I lift both it and Bolt in a mock dual-weapon fighting stance. The creatures hiss, but with a few swipes they’ve all turned to mist.

I glance around.

The scene is chaos.

Fiyr and Graie are back to back, swinging their swords at any of the fanged shadows that get too close. Sir Cawle is thrashing by the entrance of a cave. Ravne is still missing.

And the queen… the queen is surrounded.

My breath catches in my throat as I see the true form of the creatures that have decided to abandon their cover in favour of ripping my ruler apart.

They’re pale as the moon, humanoid but almost ghostly, with black features; eyes, lips, hair, all sculpted of ebony. And their mouths, drawn back in white-fanged snarls. They don’t move like humans, or even animals, but rather like shadows, flickering in and out of the air like the light cast on them is inconstant.

“Get away from her!” I scream a battle cry as I charge the cluster of them.

There’s an explosion behind me, but everything in me is focused on saving the queen’s life. _I’m not going to make it. I’m not going to make it._

It’s too far, the vampires are lunging…

One of the vampires, taller and faster than the others, knocks down the queen as she thrusts spikes of ice through its companions chests. As Queen Bluelianna tumbles to the ground, she throws out a hand and a jagged shard of ice shoots out of the ground, spearing one of the vampires.

It’s no use. The bigger one prowls closer, right above her, when suddenly—

A blazing torch, thrown with startling velocity, slams into the back of the vampire, who whips around and hisses as it begins to burn. Its unearthly cry makes my skin tingle, but I’m too busy thanking the Starlaxi for whoever threw that torch.

“Fire-boy, toss me another of those!” It’s Barrleigh, triumphant.

_And I bet I can guess who ‘fire-boy’ is._

I run over and send a spray of sand across the crowd of vampires. I don’t have enough power to send them through the air at a speed to actually injure, but it works for intimidation and they all vanish into mist, thinking the sand is something more menacing.

“ _Burn them all!_ ” Fiyr yells, sounding maniacal. The firelight sends bright orange light spilling out over the scene, and I hear more hissing screams.

“You led us into a trap!” It’s Sir Cawle, charging straight for Barrleigh with _Tigerclaw_ drawn and gleaming.

“Hey! Hey! Whoa, buddy, I didn’t know the vamps were there! I didn’t mean to!” Barrleigh yelps, dropping the burning torch which hits the ground with _hisss_ and raising his hands in surrender.

Growling at Sir Cawle’s unnecessary aggression and knowing the vampires are going to rematerialize any second now, I storm over to the pair of them.

“Sir Cawle, the queen needs you _right now,_ so leave Barrleigh, we’ll deal with him later,” I snap, glancing at Barrleigh and seeing the genuine shock and fear in his eyes.

When Sir Cawle gives me a stiff nod and heads for the queen, I turn back to Barrleigh. Before I can say a word, he interrupts.

“Where was that kid that was with you? Not fire-boy and his buddy, the—the other one?”

“Ravne? I don’t know. We have to find him,” I agree, my heart beating faster. “We lost him around those caves. You have fire?”

“Thanks to that carrot-lookin’ kid, I have enough torches to send ‘em all up in blazes,” Barrleigh promises lowly. He spins and dashes towards the caves I gestured to earlier.

“Fiyr, Graie!” I yell. “Help the queen!”

I turn and run after Barrleigh. “Ravne!”

We drive the vampires off with Fiyr’s fire and Barrleigh’s torches, but when Barrleigh reappears with Ravne slung over his shoulder, it’s clear he’s in a bad way. Some of the monsters were dragging him off into the caves, and my stomach is twisted with fear that they’ve already bit him.

He looks enough like a vampire already, with his black hair and ghost-white skin. He doesn’t need a pair of bite marks to prove it. Blood pools in the corner of his mouth and his breathing is shallow.

Barrleigh carries him back to the rest of the group, and I wring my hands, following behind him. When we reach them, my heart seizes in my chest. Graie, Fiyr, and Tigre Cawle are all standing around the prone body of… the queen.

_No._

“Queen Bluelianna?” I croak.

“She’s in the Starlaxi’s hands now,” Sir Cawle says gravely.

“Ravne!” Graie choked. “Is he alive?!”

“I—I don’t know, I mean his heart’s beatin’, but it ain’t strong,” Barrleigh said softly. “Y’all have anythin’ to, I don’t know, bandage it or somethin’?”

“Does he have a wound?” Fiyr asked, also hurrying over.

“What about the queen?” I snap.

“She’s coming back, the Starlaxi is bringing her back,” Sir Cawle says softly, watching the body without breaking eye-contact for a moment. “Ravne’s dead?”

“He’s not dead!” Graie exclaims, upset. “He’s just hurt! We can fix him!”

But our attention is drawn away by a sudden glow emanating from the queen’s body. It begins in her forehead, from the star there, then spreads to shroud her whole face in pearlescent, ghostly light.

Her body rises slightly, as though her whole torso’s being pulled up towards something, and then she exhales deeply and her eyes flutter open.

“Queen Bluelianna!” I exclaim, unable to hide my deep relief. She blinks, staring up at the sky, which is now lightening once more, like she’s not quite aware.

“Barrleigh, go find something to patch them up,” Sir Cawle orders him.

“Yessir,” the boy snorts, but still rushes away towards the manor’s.

I kneel by the side of the queen and help her sit up.

“Wh—what happened?” she rasps, and glances up at Sir Cawle who is watching Barrleigh run off. “I would have died…”

“It was Barrleigh that brought the fire,” I tell her softly, then more grudgingly admit, “and Fiyr helped too.”

She nods, closing her eyes. “Is Barrleigh still here?”

“Sir Cawle sent him to find medicine,” I say. “I think he believes that Barrleigh led us into a trap.”

“And do you?” the queen asks, her voice cracking.

“I don’t know why he would lead us into a trap and then try to _save_ us from it,” I say. “But I don’t know much about him either.”

The queen nods slowly. “Wise.”

I smile weakly, but I’m worried. Her skin has lost a little colour, going paler and closer to the colour of the star on her forehead. The edges of the star are more difficult to make out and it looks duller, less iridescent. _Is this the Starlaxi calling her back to them?_ I can’t deny the claws of worry that grip my stomach despite the queen’s apparent recovery.

“He wasn’t bitten.” Graie’s voice is weak with relief. “He wasn’t. Just roughed up. Looks like they hit him over the head, bruises, swelling, and maybe a concussion. Just scratches. No bite.”

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. _He’ll recover. He has to._

“And Indigo?” Fiyr wants to know.

“His horse was nowhere to be found,” I say. _And the Starlaxi knows that a message directly from them wouldn’t be enough to send me back into those caves._ “Gone.”

Fiyr nods, his expression sobered from the wild exhilaration of the fight.

“We’re lucky that’s all we lost,” Sir Cawle says, staring across the field.

Fiyr nods, but I have an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. _That’s all? A horse, and you know, our Blacklands-damned ruler’s_ life _!_ But getting upset about it now is going to solve nothing. _One of her Blessings is gone and I don’t know how many that leaves her with._ It’s unsettling; I was pretty sure that wasn’t her last life, but now I’m realizing if it had been, everything would have been turned upside down so fast. _We’d have King Liyon Star. He wouldn’t know about me. Would Spottalia tell him?_

“Rabinna,” Ravne murmurs in his sleep, rolling over.

Sighing, I kneel beside him and grip his shoulder, shaking him a little.

“Hey, careful!” Graie snaps and I grit my teeth.

“He has to wake up. We have to keep riding as soon as possible,” I say, still shaking Ravne, though a little gentler now.

“Well you haven’t got to yank at him!” Graie spits back, but there’s no fight in his hazel eyes, just worry. “At least let him be until Barrleigh returns.”

I roll my eyes, standing again, but it’s a little heartening to see at least Graie being protective of Ravne. We round up the horses while waiting for Barrleigh with the medicine, and just as Tigre Cawle is grumbling about how he probably just ran off and _damn outlanders can’t keep a promise for a damn second_ , Barrleigh returns.

“Brought some salve, my momma used to keep a jar of salve for scrapes and—here, just dab a little in the scratches,” he says, shifting from foot to foot nervously. “C’mon! What are you waiting for?”

Sir Cawle stares the boy down, amber eyes knife-sharp. “What’s in it?”  
“If it was poison, I’d tell you to _feed_ it to him, hay-brain!” Barrleigh snaps, his face flushing with anger. “Just give him the damn medicine! He’s dying!”

“He’s not dying!” Graie snaps back, snatching the medicine out of the outlander’s hands before Tigre can raise any more of a fuss. “He’s _fine_ , we just have to patch up his scratches.”

I glance at Fiyr. His hands have curled into fists and he’s watching Barrleigh.

_Not him too? Why would this outlander betray us? What would be motivating him?_ I wonder irritably. _Can we maybe focus on the people that are actually hurt, here?_

I kneel next to Ravne, glancing at Graie.

“If you start shaking him again, I swear to Starlaxi—” The threat starts strong but his voice begins to shake and all I feel is pity.

“I just want to help. Do we have bandages?” I ask.

“See if Barrleigh brought any,” Graie says, waving me off as he carefully administers the salve. I ignore how badly his hands are shaking.

I leave him to fuss over Ravne and march over to Barrleigh, ignoring Fiyr and Sir Cawle’s scrutiny. “Did you bring bandages?” I ask with as much polite tact as I can manage.

“I _did_ bring bandages,” he answers, seeming to have recovered from the outburst at Sir Cawle. The faintest twinkle in his hazel eyes communicates that he’s aware of the burning gazes of the two people that have apparently randomly decided he’s a reincarnated Blacklands-dweller.

“Thank you.”

Taking the cloth strips, an idea hits me. The moment the bandages are out of sight of the rest of the group, I slip a couple into the satchel on my hip. _Well, they’re for stemming the flow of blood, right? May as well._

“Here.”

I feel weirdly embarrassed when Graie looks up at me with obviously red hazel eyes. _I know we all love Ravne, but he’s really…_ I soften, looking into Graie’s eyes. _Not my business. We just need to help him right now._

“Thanks,” he rasps, and I nod, fighting the urge to run my hands through my hair until it falls off. Nervous tic, I guess, and it’s been a pretty fucking nerve-racking day.

…

Once everyone’s as recovered as they can be in the short time that Queen Bluelianna allows us to take a break, we begin packing up the horses and preparing for our departure. Ravne’s been awake and up for a bit now, though he still flinches at loud noises. Then again, hasn’t he always?

“Ravne will ride with me on Lazuli,” the queen announces, standing to mount the demure gray mare.

“Well, now, hang on,” Barrleigh interrupts. “He’s—he’s still pretty roughed up. Sure you don’t wanna leave him here for a couple weeks or so, ‘til he recovers, y’know?”

“Absolutely not,” Sir Cawle interjects stiffly. Apparently the camaraderie and medicine that Barrleigh has offered us freely did nothing to appease him.

It makes my palms itch with irritation. _What, does he want Barrleigh to shit diamonds? He’s damn well more pleasant than half the court and has done fuck all to deserve this kind of treatment from Sir Cawle. Then again, when has Sir Cawle’s behaviour ever made sense?_

“We appreciate the offer, Barrleigh, but Ravne will be treated well at the castle, and we will be certain the trip is not too hard on him,” Queen Bluelianna says, though there’s a deeply amused and knowing gleam in her ice-blue eyes that I can only guess at. “We’ll be sure to pass this way again should I require counsel from the Starlaxi.”

“A’ight,” Barrleigh says casually, shrugging nonchalantly. “Yeah, cool. No, all good.”

“We’ll see each other again,” Ravne chimes in. He’s blinking like he’s barely conscious, but his gaze fixes itself on Barrleigh all the same. “I have a feeling.”

Barrleigh glances back and him and nods, his lips quirking into a little smile.

“Let’s go,” Sir Cawle snaps, and the queen mounts Lazuli.

I head over to where Dune has been resting after her tussle with the vampires. Fiyr’s still staring at Ravne and Barrleigh, looking utterly perplexed. I bite back a laugh at his complete bewilderment.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Barrleigh,” the queen says. “Thundria thanks you, and hopes you remain a friend for many seasons to come.”

Barrleigh gives her a little salute and grins. “Yeah, me too. You take care, yeah?”  
Regardless of Sir Cawle’s dirty glare, I can’t help a mirroring grin. _Farm life must be so different from life in the court. Hard work all the same, but maybe less… psychologically taxing. Speaking of which…_

After our tangle with the vampires, I know that the queen will have to lead us through Wynnder territory, regardless of the consequences.

And I’m getting worried about the consequences.


	18. Chapter 17 - Fiyr

Chapter 17 - Fiyr

The moors of Wynnd are silent except for the ghostly howl of the wind.

I shiver on the saddle of Blitz, feeling a chill despite the thick cloaks we all wear. _It’s almost too quiet._

“I don’t like this,” Samn mumbles beside me.

“Don’t like what?” I say, more aggressively than necessary, probably, but fighting is better than total, eerie silence.

“It’s—It’s like the land is dead,” he mutters, shivering as the wind blows his hair off his forehead. “Too quiet.”

I nod, glancing around suspiciously.

Sir Cawle slows his horse, and we all do the same.

“Why are you stopping?” the queen asks, her tone sharp in the empty air.

“Checking…” he says, shutting his eyes and breathing in deeply.

“We don’t need to,” she replies, a faraway, uneasy look in her eyes. “There will be no trace of Shodawa on the Wynnder moors today. We must return to the castle immediately.”

The two statements back to back make my stomach twist in fear. _She’s not saying that the reason that they’re not on Wynnder moors is that they’re in Thundrian forests?_

Black-dressed knights, swarming the castle, slaughtering the court… it’s strangely familiar. I recall my dream. The shadowy figures, the familiar screams… _That couldn’t have been the future. Only the monarch and the court healer ever have premonitions. Even I know that._

But it’s hard to brush it off just like that. It felt... important. It felt like it was _coming_ , a dark cloud on the horizon, the harbinger of something much worse, but how am I supposed to stop it, kilometres from the castle? _What’s the point of a premonition if there’s nothing I can do about it?_

“We have to ride faster,” the queen suddenly snaps, staring up into the sky at the sun that is passing across far too quickly. “Let’s go.”

We spur our horses into a gallop, the wind whipping at our cloaks, but even now the queen’s face is grim—just speeding up doesn’t seem to have appeased her fears.

I have a sinking feeling in my stomach.

_It was just a dream._

It had to be.

…

We make it to the border in record time, before the sun has even reached its peak in the sky, but the queen doesn’t let up the breakneck pace. Sir Cawle still seems to be slipping into the fifth dimension every so often to check on the traces.

Graie and I have started anxiously copying him. At first, I found it soothing to feel the Shodawa traces getting weaker and fading as we head into the forest, but suddenly, a new, strong, _recent_ Shodawa trace has struck the world around us.

“Shodawa!” Graie spits at the same time as I jerk out of the fifth dimension with a yelp.

“We have to get to the castle now!” the queen shouts to the group, and the collective pace increases further. Blitz pants underneath me but there’s no time to waste. We’re all dreading what lies ahead at the castle.

Fortunately, we don’t have to wait until we arrive to find out what’s going on.

Unfortunately, that’s because we can hear the screams ringing out from a considerable distance away.

The faint sound of metal on metal _clang_ s and the trees shaking after each explosion do nothing to soothe my nerves. I have a hard time not drawing blood as I dig my heels further into Blitz’s sides.

“Faster! Faster!” the queen hisses, and the branches lash at us as we bolt through the forest.

It’s both too soon and too late when we come to a halt beneath the colossal trees where the castle is located, and my breathing is hard and shallow as we dismount and begin to scramble up the ladder.

That is, Graie and I scramble up the ladder. Both Tigre Cawle and Samn opt to scale trees, and the queen simply plants her hands against the earth and erupts upwards in a shimmering spire of ice, shooting past us and up into the treetops.

The screams are getting louder.

The minute we’re on top of the leaves, the battle raging is immediately obvious. It has spilled out of the castle and onto the pavilion.

Battle rages on all four sides; the throne room is a warzone with every life-force type I’ve ever seen being flung back and forth, explosions left, right, and centre. Summoned animals tackle elementalists who shoot bolts of earth, water, and more at anyone who gets too close. The alchemists’ battle takes place on a smaller scale, but even so, I see tell-tale signs of people reeling backward, clutching their eyes, or doubling over in pain from an unseen attacker.

Icy fear locks around my stomach, but I bite my tongue and unsheathe Rusty.

_Time to prove myself as a real knight._

I almost scream as a compact, dark-haired woman darts in front of me, her crooked teeth bared, but my instinct is to whip my sword into her side and it’s a useful one.

She crumples, managing to dart aside again, but her hand flies over to cup her side. _Did I cut her? Did it actually-_ But I don’t have time to question it as she bares her teeth and shoots a hand forwards.

I leap backwards, avoiding the blow that’s not coming.

Instead, an uncomfortable feeling crawls through my stomach and then locks down with a blaze of pain. I shout, grabbing my stomach and doubling over, still recoiling and trying to escape her.

She laughs and the blaze of pain ignites into anger and I yell, squeezing my hands shut and reaching for the light around me. _I don’t need fire, I just need light and heat and air and_ fuel _._ I won’t be able to summon my own fire until I’m a knight, but still, somehow...

The Shodwes woman shrieks as her clothes catch on fire, and then it turns into a howl as her skin meets the heat.

The grip of pain loosens on my stomach as she wheels away, beginning to run.

_I… I did it. I fought her off._

But I don’t feel the victory of warmth for long before the truth of, _Well, a hundred more to go,_ sets in.

The battle is still vicious on the pavilion, but I have a strange feeling in my stomach that urges me into the castle. _Didn’t get this far by ignoring my gut,_ I think, and plunge through the doors.

Not a moment too soon.

A short, broad man slips through the corridor that I know leads to the nursery, and my heart drops. _Blayke Fouhte. The captain of the guard. Of Shodawa._

And I’m guessing he’s not going in there to offer the children daisies.

My hands clench into fists and, drawn from the torches on the hallways, fire wraps them in a menacing glow. _Didn’t Samn say he had a particular fear of fire elementalists? He should remember what it’s like to be afraid._

I charge forwards, but I’m interrupted by another knight cutting across my path. She’s built similarly to the last one but her shaved head eliminates ripping her hair out as a viable tactic.

But I’m barely even thinking about tactics as I race towards her, flaming fist pulled back.

“Out of my _way!_ ” I snarl, trying to send it into her nose and finding only smoke in my path.

_Elementalist._

The observation is barely through my head before a blow to the back of my head sends me reeling forwards. As I overbalance, I feel a strange flicker of familiarity from over three years ago go through my limbs.

I let myself slide to the floor in a practiced drop.

A throaty chuckle is elicited from the woman and I wait for the _shling_ of metal as her true-steel sword is unsheathed, then plant both hands on the floor and spin, gaining momentum to knock her legs out from under her.

She snarls with anger as she falls sideways, trying lunge while off-balance, but she’s already on the ground and I don’t have time, I have to get to the nursery.

“The nursery!” I yell, trying to catch the attention of some knight, any knight, someone who can help. “Blayke Fouhte’s in the nursery!”

But when I skid into the entrance of the wing, there’s no sign of the broad, squat man, only Yllowei Fennen standing in the centre of the room with a long, glinting sword drawn.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that the kids and their mothers have mostly been herded into the safe room and Blayke Fouhte appears to be gone. The ex-healer gives me a tiny nod.

I hurry back out into the throne room, drawing fire from the torches to wrap my hands, but it looks like the court has things mostly under control now. I watch as Sir Strommer, a centralized blizzard seeming to whip around him, lash a Shodawes knight missing a hand over and over again with _Whitestorm_ , then ice, then snow, then wind, then his sword again.

Before I know it, all of Shodawa has been chased from the throne room, and then off the pavilion, and then hopefully, all the way out of the kingdom.

It’s not until the adrenaline of the battle leaves me that I see the damage they’ve left in their wake.

“Sir Hartef!” It’s Graie, a cracking yell bursting out of him as he sprints to the side of the knight that trains him. That trained him.

The blond knight is flat on his back on the stones, his usually-warm brown eyes flat and empty. His thick blond mane is splayed around him like a sleeping princess in the storybooks from the time of the maiorum. Scarlet blood pools around his head, a line of red trailing from his opened lips down his cheek and vanishing into his stained beard.

“No…” I don’t even realize I said it until I feel tears sting my eyes. Switching into the Trace, almost instinctively, I can no longer feel the sunny heat of Sir Hartef’s life-force.

I stumble over and drop to knees, staring at the slack body, barely able to understand what I’m looking at. _How could so much life just… stop?_

I hear soft footsteps behind me and turn to see Frostialla Fuor holding the frail body of an old woman in her arms.

“The children are safe, thanks to Lady Fennen,” she declares, her voice impressively steady. “But Lady Rozel Tali had passed away. As has Sir Liyon Hartef.”

Cries rise from court that has begun to congregate in the throne room.

_This is… what I saw…_

I wince as the memory of the dark, dream warriors begins to blend with the memories of the attack from Shodawa. _Destruction. Death. And now Sir Hartef is gone._

“Sir Hartef.” I can barely hear Queen Bluelianna’s voice, but when I turn to look, I see that she’s gone ghostly pale as she stares down at the body, her eyes unfocused. She looks shell-shocked.

It’s unsettling, to see the least. She has always seemed sure of herself and in control and unshakable, but there’s vulnerability and fear in her eyes, and it scares me.

“He is on his way to the Starlaxi.” It’s Spottalia Lief, drawing to Queen Bluelianna’s side and resting a hand on her shoulder.

It takes us all by surprise when Queen Bluelianna’s hand flies up to push off the healer’s hand. She tears her gaze from Liyon’s body and casts it over the court.

“Thundria requires a new captain of the guard.” The queen’s voice shakes hard, but she forges onwards, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I say these words before the body of Liyon Hartef that he may hear and approve of my choice. The new captain of the guard of the kingdom of Thundria will be Sir Tigre Cawle.”

I think the whole court knew this would be her choice. It seemed almost inevitable.

The knight’s face betrays nothing, but there’s a glint in amber eyes as he kneels before the queen. She draws _Winter’s Wrath_ and rests it on his shoulder.

“Rise, Sir Cawle, captain of Thundria’s guard.”

A flicker of movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I turn to see Samn as he crosses his arms with the beginning of a scowl on his face. _What’s he so angry about?_

But as I turn, his pale gaze flicks to mine and his face changes in one of deep thought. I turn away again and look back at where Rozel Tali is laid next to Sir Hartef. He’s lost none of his imposing presence in death, somehow. I feel like we should all be kneeling.

“Prepare for the funerals,” the queen orders, her voice cracking, then turns to walk to her room behind the throne. She pauses and glances back at Liyon, and so softly that I don’t think I’m meant to hear it at all… “I don’t know what the court will do without you, Liyon.”

The throne room is somber and dark as half the court filters into the healer’s wing to receive treatment and the other half head to their rooms.

“Let’s get to the healer’s wing,” Graie mumbles beside me, backing away from the knight’s body with a sickened expression.

“I’m fine—” I start, but at the look in his eyes, I stop myself again. “Alright. Some Shodawes knight had some kind of sickness life-force or something. Felt like I’d eaten rotten waste.”

Graie makes a face that seems like it’s supposed to be sympathetic, but he’s so shaken it just looks unhappy. He stretches out his forearms and I see ragged scratches all over them. “Took a couple blows myself. Some fucker with stoat force; vicious little beasts.”

I shudder at the thought and we limp to the healer’s wing together.

Graie’s in worse shape than I am, so I wait while he crumples into one of the beds closest to Spottalia’s desk and waits there while she takes care of those in the most dire conditions.

As I sit in on a bench lining the entrance area, movement on the pavilion catches my attention. _That’s… Samn, and Ravne too… What are they doing? Does this have something to do with what he was so angry about earlier?_

I squint through the frosted glass, but I can’t see their expressions. Ravne gesticulates wildly and Samn suddenly recoils in shock? Anger? Outrage? I can’t tell.

The interaction confuses me. What is Ravne telling him that’s so shocking? Or are they arguing about something? _And what did this have to do with Sir Cawle being appointed captain of the guard?_

If anything, I’m relieved that he’s the captain now.

Sure, he snaps a lot and he’s a cranky curmudgeon, but if I knew I’d be meeting him in battle I’d shit myself. I don’t he’s scared of a damn thing, and it’s incredible. Right now, Thundria needs that kind of fearlessness. Our kingdom’s caught in a terrifying time and Sir Cawle can lead us out of it. _I have faith._

Samn and Ravne have disappeared from the window. A couple tense moments later, the door to the healer’s wing swings open yet again and in steps Ravne, looking pale and shaken.

I fight off the urge to grab him and demand to know what he and Samn were colluding about. Instead, I examine him. _What was it? What were you telling him? What’s wrong?_ He doesn’t look like much of anything but scared. Scared as the Blacklands.

He pauses in the entrance and a taller figure appears behind him. _Samn again! What’s going on?_

“I think you should say something,” Samn hisses in his ear.

Ravne spins away from him, crossing his hands over his chest defensively. “It _won’t help_! I can’t say anything, don’t you understand?”

Samn opens his mouth, olive eyes glinting with fire, but Ravne cuts him off, shaking his head. “No. No. Conversation over.”

Samn bites his lip and shrugs, his hands going to his hips. “Fine. But if this comes up again, or if it’s worse than you’ve let on _,_ swear to the Starlaxi, I’m going straight to Queen Bluelianna.”

_Jerk isn’t even hurt,_ I think irritably as Samn whips around and stomps out. _So what in the Starlaxi’s name was that about?! ‘If it comes up again’? Did Ravne… do something? Right after the battle, so there must have been something I missed. Did it have to do with Shodawa? By it ‘coming up again’, he couldn’t mean another battle, could he? Or is this about Sir Cawle being appointed captain?_

My head hurts just trying to sort it out. I glance at Ravne, who’s looking sicker by the second, but if Samn couldn’t get anything out of him, I doubt I will.

Graie returns, his forearm bandaged tightly and holding a polished wooden staff. “Gotta use a cane, I’m an elder,” he informs me, though the bright and upbeat tone falls flat. His voice is rough and I know he’s been holding back tears for a while now.

I force a laugh anyways and help him out of the wing back into the throne room.

The bodies are mounted on marble slabs, their limbs arranged so they look like they just fell asleep with their arms perfectly crossed over their bodies.

“We’re going to hold vigil,” Graie informs me shakily, kneeling in front of the slab. I copy him, but when he doesn’t move, I glance at him, confused. “For the whole night.”

I try to contain my shock. How are we expected to stay here the whole night? I can already feel the exhaustion begin to drag at my limbs. _I need to go to my bed or I’m going to pass out right here._

Ravne, Samn, Duss, and many other members of the court join us to kneel by their bodies.

There wasn’t much about vigils in my studies; I’m racking my brain, and I do remember something about holding vigil during the night, but I thought it was new knights that had to do it, and I didn’t realize it was actually _the whole night_.

Sir Cawle comes up next to Sir Hartef’s body, murmurs something in Old Thundrian and I recognize it as a prayer for speedy travel to the Starlaxi. He brushes a hand over the other knight’s forehead, pushing back a single golden lock in a surprisingly tender motion, then with a glance at Ravne, takes a knee next to all of us.

_We’re lucky to have him,_ I think gratefully, then with a heavy sigh, _It’s going to be a long night._


	19. Chapter 18 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, I'm so sorry my updating is so spotty! I hope you're all safe!

Chapter 18 - Fiyr

When the vigil is finally over, my knees are stiff from being locked in the same place for so long and it takes me a minute to yank myself to my feet.

Graie looks like absolute shit. I’m sure I don’t look much better, but he’s a clear example of why holding vigil for a whole night is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. Heavy dark bags are swollen under his cloudy hazel gaze and the bandages on his arm have slackened and have faint dark streaks from where his blood has leaked through. He looks like he’s going to keel over dead.

“You should probably go to see Spottalia—” I start, but he shakes his head. It looks more like he’s given up and he’s just letting it loll back and forth.

“No. They’re going to go bury him… I have to go with them,” he croaks.

“Graie, you look like—”

“I have to.”

My protest catches in my throat. Graie’s breathing is ragged and his eyes are glittering with a fresh wave of tears. I’m surprised he hasn’t dehydrated himself yet. My cheeks feel like there’s a stiff layer on the surface from the dried salty tears.

“Alright.”

“What a terrible waste.” It’s Sir Cawle, standing from where he was kneeling by Liyon Hartef, looking down at the body with a pained expression. “A terrible, terrible waste.”

I wipe my nose with the back of my sleep, my throat raw as I say, “I wish you were there to save him.”

The knight glances at me as Graie trails away towards where the elders have gathered, preparing to take Liyon to his final resting place. Sir Cawle’s eyes are surprisingly soft as he regards me. “I save as many as I can, and I know it will never feel like enough.”

He glances back at Sir Hartef’s body, seeming to gather himself.

Ravne stands beside me, having lost none of his pallor over the course of the night. Sir Cawle glances at him as he stands, a strange look in his eye as he stares him down.

“Let’s get some sleep,” I mutter, grabbing Ravne’s arm, not trusting him to make it back to the squires’ wing without tripping and passing out.

Ravne flinches as I take him by the elbow and steer him towards our beds. _Well, obviously_ something’s _gotten into him._ I have the strangest foreboding feeling deep in my stomach. _And I don’t think it’s good._

I glance at him again out of the corner of my eye at the same moment as his gaze flicks to mine, then he immediately looks away. Not before I catch the flash of pure terror in his gaze. _What in the Blacklands…?_

What could he be so spooked about? _I mean, I suppose any reasonable person would be terrified if it became apparent that Shodawa of all kingdoms knew exactly where their castle was._

Wait.

_How did Shodawa know where our castle is? It’s supposed to be a secret… I mean, I’m sure they have inklings from past battles, but that kind of on-castle siege is not common. Did they just use some kind of life-force tracking?_

Or…

_Surely not._

No Thundrian knight would betray their kingdom like that, right?

But as I guide Ravne back to the squires’ wing, my thrice-damned overactive imagination has put him right in the forefront of my fears. _He’s not a traitor, certainly, but he’s a jumpy guy._

It’s not hard to imagine Sir Fouhte cornering him, separating him from a patrol or something, pointing his sword at Ravne’s throat, using whatever undoubtedly terrifying life-force he has to torture the squire…

_Tell me where the Thundrian castle is!_

This time I’m the one to flinch.

I glance at Ravne again, who’s staring off at nothing, lost in thought with his brows drawn tightly together anxiously. _He couldn’t betray us… could he? What would any of us do under that kind of pressure?_

My stomach feels like it’s doing somersaults again, and I have no doubt that it is completely unrelated to any Shodawes knight’s life-force.

_Could he?_

…

“Up an’ at ‘em, girlies.”

It’s Duss’s nasal tone, of course, that breaks me out of my slumber.

Wasn’t nearly long enough.

Maybe eight more years and I’ll be alright.

If anything, I feel worse. My sheets are tangled in my limbs like snakes and I don’t know what I was dreaming about, but nothing good if the sheen of sweat is anything to go by. My mouth is sand and my throat is raw meat. _I’m not getting up. Absolutely not._

“The queen’s calling another court meeting,” Duss tells us, unceremoniously yanking my curtain aside to reveal my mess of a self, still in my travelling cloak because if there was one thing I didn’t feel like doing after a life or death siege on the castle by the most fearsome kingdom in the land, it was _folding and putting away my damn clothes_. “Well you’re a right mess, aren’t you!”

I groan, wishing I could summon enough energy to bash the hilt of my sword into Duss’s stupid mouth. “Get stuffed,” I croak.

“Your Shadowes lover is involved in all this,” he informs me.

_Shadowes… what?_ “Yllowei?! She’s eighty,” I retort, rolling onto my back and letting out another long, pained groan.

Duss deigns not to reply and instead retreats from the squires’ wing. A moment later, the queen’s amplified voice blares through the wing, informing us of exactly the same thing he just told us.

As I sit up, I see Ravne pull back his curtain and my suspicions from— _yesterday? Last night? A century ago?_ —return to me in a flash. “Alright, Ravne?”

He yawns in reply, looking marginally less like a corpse than before.

“Let’s get to the throne room,” I mumble, hauling myself out of the wing.

The whole court is assembled, sombre-faced and sporting various bandages and stitches. Mauzian has a cane like Graie’s.

“First, a message from our new captain of the guard,” the queen tells us hollowly. Despite no visible injury, her blue eyes are hooded and she looks like she hasn’t slept since the Lunar Temple.

“In light of the queen expending one of her Blessings,” Sir Cawle says, his steady tone seeming to help calm at least some of the court, “I will be appointing Sirs Darriek Styrp and Liang Teyl to guard her. Understand that this is in the spirit of keeping all those present safe and healthy. No one is to approach her without one of them present.”

Despite my own hostility towards those two in particular, I can’t deny that it will be a comfort to know that there will be trained knights with Queen Bluelianna at all times. _No assassinations to worry about. And they might be able to look after her a bit. She’s in pretty bad shape by the looks of it._

Regardless of my assessment, she steps forwards, sceptre in hand, and addresses the whole court. “Thundria honours your loyalty, Sir Tigre, but the safety of the kingdom will always come before my own life and I want to make it known that my door will always be open, guarded as it may be, and any knight, squire, elder, lady, or otherwise is always free to come to me. Thundria will always remain open to new ideas and newcomers.”

Many nod their approval. I feel a surge of warmth knowing that the queen can be strong even at this moment.

“In light of that, I would like to extend a formal offer to Lady Yllowei Fennen, previously of the court of Shodawa, to join the court of Thundria.”  
Shocked whispers break out among the knights, but I’m already grinning and I see Frostialla whistle her support loudly.

The old woman hobbles forwards, somehow managing to retain authority and gravitas in front of the monarch and mumbles, “I will, yes.”

“After the tragic passing of Sir Liyon Hartef, one of the most—most noble knights Thundria has ever known, I must ask Lady Mauzian Fyrra to continue the training of young Graie,” Queen Bluelianna declares, banging her sceptre on the ground once for effect.

The wiry woman gives Graie and little smile and wave.

The queen cracks a smile. “We will rebuild the damage done to the castle, we will patrol vigilantly, and we will train tirelessly. Shodawa will not catch us unaware again, and this is far from over!”

Despite the grim reality of her words, cheers break out and fists are raised.

“Shodawa chose their moment well,” Tigre breaks in, his intense gaze roving through the crowd. “Remain on your guard. They may have eyes within our walls; if anyone finds any reason to suspect something, please inform me. The safety of our kingdom may be at stake.”

I can’t help a glance at Ravne, who has the distinct look of a trapped rabbit, but before I can question him, he dashes out of the throne room, drawing curious looks. The queen raps her sceptre onto the stone, dismissing the court.

Yllowei starts hobbling towards the healer’s wing and I glance between where Ravne has just disappeared and her, before quickly hurrying over to help her.

“I’m an elder, not a log,” she grunts.

“Everyone needs help sometimes,” I say pointedly. _She sure preaches a lot for someone so proud._ “How are you doing?”

She glances at me with sharp hazel eyes, but doesn’t seem to find anything to argue with and snorts. “Fine. Other than my leg trying to fall off, peachy.”

_And she still fought._ I can’t help but marvel at her. “How’d you fight off Blayke Fouhte?”

She looks at me, a glimmer of mirth in her eyes. “He’s dumber than a bowl of beans. Seemed like he was just running through every different fighting move he’d used. You were a tougher match when you were fourteen.”

I swell at the compliment.

“Alright, alright,” she grunts.

I help her to an unoccupied bed and she swings her leg up with a wince. “Blessed Starlaxi, damn thing.”

“Not surprised Queen Bluelianna asked you to join,” I say, sitting on the bed, then lowering my tone, add, “Seems like you’re more loyal than some of the court.”

She looks at me sharply.

“Shodawa raised me. I’m a damn traitor, is what I am,” she snorts. “A _truly_ loyal knight would’ve fought with the ones that raised her. I’m a turncoat.”

This declaration sets my teeth on edge, and I can’t quite place the reaction for a moment, then it comes to me.

“And I’m a traitor, too, I suppose? After all, I left my gods,” I say. “By your logic, I should still eat from their hand, drop to the floor when they kick me, and spend my life working to fill their empty hours.”  
She cackles. “Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Consider the point conceded. You have a way with words, huh?”

I shrug, ruffling my hair. “Something like that. It’s just the truth. Do you... miss Shodawa?”

I wonder what it’s like, _really_ like, to be part of that kingdom. Could you even sleep or would you be too worried about your fellow knights slitting your throat and leaving you to bleed in the middle of the knight?

“I miss the _old_ Shodawa,” she grunts, looking out the window. “The _real_ Shodawa. The Shodawa from before—before that bastard took over. Imagine what his parents must’ve done to incur the wrath of the Starlaxi enough to give them _that_ thing for a child.” Yllowei’s eyes are flinty as she looks away from the window, then sighs. “He was… charismatic though. If he walked into a room, you’d damn well know it. Knew what to say to make ‘em do whatever for him. Maybe that’s why we were all so damn blind. And the healers are supposed to be the ones who see it all clearly…”

I recall the Gathering. “Med Rannin Naos is the new healer.”

Yllowei lets out a disbelieving snort. “That child? He can’t cure his own sniffles, and they put him in charge of a kingdom? Blessed Starlaxi.”

We sit in silence for a moment. _I wonder if Yllowei knew him before she left. Or she was driven out. Whatever happened._ I decide not to ask, instead unconsciously fiddling with the cut in my side.

“Heard about your little tangle with the vampires,” Yllowei mutters. “Wild garlic counteracts it, you know. Even if it wasn’t a bite, their claws have got some venom too. Not enough to turn you, but plenty to get you right and sick for a few terrible days.”

I pass Spottalia on my way out of the wing and she looks up quickly. “Lady Tiall, can you—oh, sorry, Fiyr.”

“What do you need?” I’m eager to help—standing around and watching other injured people languish is driving me insane.

“Could you grab the dried flowers on the third shelf, there?” She points and when I nod, gratitude flashes in her eyes. She looks tired and I feel a pang of sympathy. _At least Yllowei will be able to help her._

When I place the flowers held together by twine on the table beside her, Spottalia turns back to me and gives me a thankful smile. I can’t help smiling back— _It’s nice to have my efforts appreciated._ I glance at Yllowei as the thought crosses my mind, then leave the healer’s wing.

Heading for the castle doors, I’m stopped by Sir Slime himself.

“You have to help with repairs,” Darriek oozes.

I wrinkle my nose, mutter a _fine,_ and head over to where Graie’s salvaging bricks from the rubble of part of the wall. He pauses to scratch a purplish scratch stretching over the exposed skin of his calf and I wince just from the sight of it.

“Yllowei recommends wild garlic,” I tell him, bending over and grabbing a big brick with both hands, clearing the dust off it.

“Stings like a bitch.”

I glance at the entrance again where Darriek is standing and then back at Graie. “I’m going to sneak out and grab some.”

A spark of his old life lights in his eyes and he claps me on the back. “Careful, eh?”

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

Waiting for Sir Styrp to turn back to Sir Cawle to be his usual suck-up self, I dart out of the hole in the wall that we’re clearing the rubble from, then look back to Graie for a moment. “See you in a minute.”

Graie gives me a little salute and a grin. “Be quick.”

I bolt across the pavilion. Reaching the entrance of the ladder, I quickly lower myself out of sight from the entrance of the castle where Liang is posted and descend the ladder.

I touch down on the forest floor and quickly shift into the Trace. Luckily, the stench of wild garlic is thick, coming from the south and probably not far. I hurry after the trace until I come upon the glossy green leaves and tiny white flowers. Sending a quick thanks to the Starlaxi, I grab a couple handfuls of them and uproot them, then hurry back through the forest with the plants balled up in my fists.

I’m back up the ladder in a flash.

“Fiyr.”

This time, Sir Cawle’s perfectly level tone doesn’t set me at ease. Quite the opposite.

I flinch, scratching my head with one hand that’s still clenched around the smelly leaves. The leaves tickle my scalp. _Ah, shit._ “Um, I was—I was… uh.”

He raises an eyebrow, then to my complete and utter shock, laughs and claps me on the shoulder. “Can’t have a squire of mine pulling these stunts. Better pull your act together.”

I bob into a bow quickly, thanking the Starlaxi that he’s not more upset. “Absolutely, sir. Sorry, sir.”

His chuckle dies in his throat and he turns to face me head-on, amber eyes warm but intense. “You’re quite—perceptive, right?”

I swallow hard. “Um, I do my best, sir.”

“Then tell me. Have you seen anything strange concerning Ravne?”

It’s all the worst things I’ve been imagining, coming together right in front of me. “Actually, sir, I was starting to get worried…”

He nods, pulling away with a cold look in his eye, looking out toward the horizon. “I thought as much. We were by the Shodawes border not too long ago. I sent him to mark the border further along but when he returned, Blayke Fouhte’s trace was on him, and too recent to be just a residual marking.”

A little gasp escapes me. “You don’t think he…”

“There are rumours. Rumours about Blayke’s life-force,” Sir Cawle grunts. “Bad, bad things. Drowning on land, hyperventilation, fainting… If the stories are all true, we have reasonable grounds to suspect that he’s some kind of breath elementalist.”

I shiver. There are too many horrible applications in the wrong hands for that not to be terrifying. _Drowning on land?_ I swallow hard.

Sir Cawle is staring out onto the horizon now, his brow furrowing. “When we were at the Lunar Temple, he… he left our camp for a moment. He said he had to relieve himself, but he was gone long enough to… well, I just wonder sometimes, if…”

“I have to go back to the castle!” I yelp, too horrified by what he’s implying.

“You’re a smart squire, Fiyr. Keep your eyes open,” Sir Cawle says as I hurry away.

_Ravne… why?_


	20. Chapter 19 - Samn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter before things really pop off... (gasp, she updated on time)

Chapter 19 - Samn

“Ow!”

I try to twist around to shove Spottalia away, but she’s pretty dexterous despite looking like a doll.

“Hold still, Samnath—” she murmurs, but I cut her off, aggravated.

“Do _not_ call me that.”

“Samn. Hold still or they won’t fit properly.”

I bite off a growl in my throat and surrender, dropping my arms to my sides. The bindings pull across my chest again, tightening like a snake. “I need to be able to breathe!” I wheeze.

Spottalia hums disapprovingly to herself, pulling them tighter, inch by painstaking inch, until I’m acutely aware of every breath I take. _Ow! Blessed Starlaxi!_

“Samn,” she mumbles reproachfully. I think it’s the most confrontational I’ve ever seen her, and she’s _still_ staring at the floor. “They need to be adjusted. You’re a growing young woman, and—”

There’s a knock at the door.

“Shit!” I spit and before Spottalia can get over the panicked-doe look in her eyes, I snatch my shirt off the table and bundle myself into a storage closet behind Spottalia’s desk.

My heart is pounding in my ears as I crush myself against some kind of bundle of fabric or something. The door doesn’t close perfectly, so I’m just going to hope that whoever’s at the door doesn’t notice it bobbing slightly.

“I was just coming for some poppy seeds—are you okay?”

Of course it’s Fiyr.

I repress a sour laugh. _Why wouldn’t it be? Of course._

“The Starlaxi is restless,” Spotallia tells him and I can _just_ picture how she’s fluttering her hands around and going white and sitting down and fanning herself. “What do you need the poppy seeds for?”

“Graie’s leg is acting up.” His voice is weirdly gentle. We’ve ribbed him about it plenty in training, but… _does he actually have a thing for the healer? Because… I mean, one, she’s twenty, and two, like_ the code _?! Hello?_

“Oh, of course.”

Some rustling. Fiyr clears his throat awkwardly. Can they hear my heartbeat? Because it sounds pretty damn loud to me. _What if he found out?_ I swallow. Brindellia’s instilled it into me at a young age to conceal as best I can, but Fiyr is an outsider—he didn’t have the same ideas around him when he was really young. Surely he of all people wouldn’t raise a fuss about my training?

Then again, there’s the whole Sir Cawle thing.

It sends a chill down my back just remembering Ravne’s colourless, anxious face as he choked out _He shouldn’t be captain! He can’t be!_ before Sir Styrp interrupted us. I’ve picked the words apart over and over again since then. I even told him, _Then say something!_

I don’t know what to make of Ravne’s cryptic outburst, but I’ve known him since before Brindellia explained to me that I was going to hide my gender and I know that he wouldn’t be raising a fuss about nothing. Sir Cawle scares the shit out of him, but I’m starting to think there’s a lot more to it than just that. I know that Fiyr respects Sir Cawle a lot—can I really trust him?

“Fiyr, before you go…”

I suddenly have the weirdest flash of terror that she’s going to kiss him or something. _No!_

“I have to tell you something…”

_I’m right in the damn closet!_ Do I burst out? Do I make noise or something? Maybe I can convince them there’s a ghost and they’ll—

“The Starlaxi told me something a long time ago, and I believe that it may pertain to you.”

_Oh._ I want to punch myself. _What in the Blacklands, Samn? Get a hold of yourself. Why would you assume she was going to—to do something like that?_

“Fire alone can save our kingdom.”

My teeth close around my tongue, _hard_. I reel back, mouthing every cuss I know, but somehow manage to not make any noise. It doesn’t seem to be bleeding at least.

_Of course Fiyr has a prophecy or something about him. Why wouldn’t he? Of course,_ I seethe internally. _Of course. He’s going to be the damn saviour of Thundria, of course he is! Why would you have a prophecy about some regular old squire that worked her damn ass off for everything she has when you could just hand destiny to some ginger prick that strolls in?!_

“Uh—okay?” Fiyr mumbles, but Spottalia Lief doesn’t seem to intend to elaborate and a moment I hear his footsteps as he walks out of the healer’s wing.

The closet creaks open.

“Are you for real?” It’s more venomous than I meant it to be, but oh well. “‘Fire alone’— he’s a fucking _god-toy_!”

Spottalia’s mouth collapses into a little tight line. “I do not presume to know the mysteries of the Starlaxi—”

“Well you clearly thought you had a pretty good idea of what it meant if you were going around telling squires it!” I spit. I don’t even know who I’m mad at—the Starlaxi, Spottalia Lief, Fiyr, everyone.

I want the Starlaxi to stop with the vague prophetic mutterings and _not_ make their chosen one some god-toy that the queen adopted off the streets, I want Spottalia to stand up for herself for _once_ in her Blacklands-damned life, and most of all, I want Fiyr to—to—I don’t _know_.

I get one wish at least.

“Samn, you will not speak to me that way!” To her credit, her voice only shakes a little. “If you have an issue with the prophecy that I was given, don’t shoot the messenger. Ride to the Lunar Temple and ask them yourself!”

Still seething with disappointed anger, I fold my arms over my chest defiantly. “I’ll come back for the bindings later.”

Spottalia averts her gaze, playing with her hands. _Guess that one outburst took a lot out of her._ “Fine. But they need to be adjusted. Don’t leave it too long.”

Waving a hand dismissively, I pull the mercifully loose-fitting shirt on and head out into the throne room. Everyone’s still rebuilding after the battle and I didn’t get more than a couple of hours of sleep in the last twenty-four hours. Dealing with Spottalia Lief has worn down my patience more than a little bit as well.

“Why don’t you go help with the east wall repairs?” Sir Darriek suggests, oozing up beside me.

_Why don’t you piss off?_

“I didn’t sleep after the vigil,” I inform him.

“And?”

He sneers at me. I glower back.

Eventually, he backs down and heads off to find someone else to pester. I make it back to the squires’ wing in peace and yank the curtain shut on my nook. In the privacy of the broom closet-sized room, I let the tears come as I change into a shift to sleep.

I’ve put off thinking about it, but...

Rozel Tali was the last living member of my father’s side of my family. My real grandmother died long before I was born, and she filled the space for me with wisdom and kindness. And what was it worth? Nothing in the face of the knights of Shodawa. I pray to the Starlaxi that she went out fighting at least and will be gifted many seasons of rest.

Sleep comes fitfully.

…

Usually, I’m up first of the squires, but tonight, my sleep dragged on longer than usual and I’m awoken by Fiyr rapping sharply on the beam framing my nook’s doorway.

Well, as long as he’s not trying to dump water on me.

“I’m up,” I snap groggily, rolling over and fighting a whine. The light of the torches is too bright for this morning.

“Extra training; queen’s orders.” When he pulls his head back out of my nook, I suddenly remember yesterday. _Prophecy god-toy._ The scorn I had for him when he first arrived lessened over the next few years, but Spottalia’s revelation yesterday has brought it surging back up.

Sighing, I swing my legs over the side of my cot and stretch. _Well, training with the queen is okay, I guess._ As long as it’s not history or forest survival training. I’m good at the latter, but it’s beyond dull and I’d take sword-fighting ‘til my fingers are stiff over it any day.

As Fiyr goes about rousing the rest of the squires, I dress quickly.

_Spottalia was right,_ I realize irritably. _They’re not tight enough anymore._ Looking at the profile of myself in the mirror and casting a harsh eye over myself, I wonder if any passerby would actually assume I’m male. It’s no guarantee. I have the advantage of a sharp jaw and uncommon height, but the gradual swell of my chest seems like it’s trying to betray me more and more by the day.

Maybe I should cut my hair. Smoothing back the strawberry blonde locks, I sigh. _It’s the only feminine thing Brindellia Faise doesn’t kick up a fuss about._ Then again, long doesn’t exactly equal feminine where my hair’s concerned. It only really brushed the back of my neck when I was twelve, but it’s grown into a reddish-gold stream to rival Sir Hartef’s since. _Or… it would’ve rivalled Sir Hartef’s._

_Right. No use dwelling on appearances when Shodawa grows stronger by the day. Besides, I’m hardly the most feminine among the squires,_ I tell myself firmly. _Graie’s soft around the features, Duss is shorter than lots of the women of the court, Fiyr has like... a pointy face like an elf, and Ravne is… well. Ravne is Ravne._

With that, I stuff the last bit of my tunic under my pants and secure my belt. _Man. Boy. Guy._

I leave the squire’s wing. I don’t think Graie, Ravne, or Duss are even up yet. As I walk out into the throne room, I wrap the twine around my fistful of blond curls on the back of my head.

“Where’s Graie?” Sir Cawle demands, standing by the entrance of the castle with Sir Styrp and the other knights with squires.

Fiyr fluffs his hair, his freckly cheeks going red. “Eh, he took some poppy seeds last night, so he might—”

“He can get up at the same time as every other squire,” Sir Cawle cuts him off coolly.

Fiyr goes silent and dips his head deferentially. “Yessir.”

For some reason, it makes my fists curl. I already have good reason to think that Tigre has something he’s hiding and him being a jerk to Fiyr for no reason isn’t helping. _Well, I mean, I’m sure that Sir Prophecy God-toy can handle being knocked down a peg or two. Then again, Sir Cawle should know that he’s not supposed to… well,_ be… _ugh, whatever._

As I muse, Sir Cawle walks over to me and Fiyr follows him, head down.

“The queen will be ready soon,” Tigre says coolly, regarding me with sharp amber eyes. “And Ravne, Graie, and Duss have finally deigned to join us. Good.”

As the trio hurry over to us, I step away to scan the throne room for Queen Bluelianna, but it doesn’t seem that she’s left her room. When I hear Tigre Cawle’s cutting voice, I glance back at the clump.

“Just try to keep it together for _one_ training session,” Sir Cawle mutters, his chin jutting up and his dark eyes staring down at Ravne. The squire pales.

_What is going on here…?_

But I don’t get an opportunity to interrupt as Queen Bluelianna leaves her private room and heads towards me. My gaze darts between Sir Cawle and his group of squires and Queen Bluelianna, but the knights are already leaving.

I sigh. _I_ have _to grill Ravne later about what’s up with Sir Cawle. He’ll tell me if I show him I can help him._

“Ready to train?” the queen asks. She’s a little better-looking than she was right after the battle, but there’s still a strange hollow look in her eye that makes me uncomfortable.

“Yeah… Where are your guards?” I ask, glancing at the doors where Sir Cawle is leaving with the other knights and their squires. _Wasn’t Sir Darriek hanging around them?_

“They’re helping with castle repairs,” she replies dismissively.

My gaze flickers towards where Sir Cawle used to be standing and then back to the queen. _Maybe… maybe I can say something now that Sir Cawle is out of the way. Then again, I don’t know… I have no proof._

I look up at the queen searchingly. The lack of warmth makes my stomach churn uneasily. _And… if she knew that one of the strongest knights in the court might be a traitor…_

I swallow hard. “Let’s go then!”

The queen doesn’t move. After a long moment, her hand creeps up to rest on my shoulder. The intensity of her pale blue eyes makes me shrink back a little. _What…?_

“We aren’t going to do the normal fighting training today,” Queen Bluelianna informs me raspily.

I frown a little. _Okay…?_ “So history then, or forest survival training? Or…”

“Meditation.”

“What?”

“We’re going to meditate. It improves our connection to life-force and increases our ability to communicate with the Starlaxi,” the queen murmurs. “Follow me.”

As she turns and swiftly heads towards one of the doors leading off of the throne room, I waver, then follow. _We’re meditating? Why are we meditating? There’s so much training to do. We’ve barely covered half of Lieting Teil’s Ancient Thundrian Texts on Fighting and I’m probably only going to be training for a couple more years!_

But the queen offers no explanation as we climb the stairs of the castle’s north tower, up, up, up. I can only remember being up here once; I was exploring the castle as a child and I raced up the spiral staircase, escaping Brindellia Faise as she chased me down until finally, a cougar grabbed me gently by the shirt, carrying me like a cub back to her.

I never made it to the top and after seeing Brindellia’s disapproving face, I never really wanted to.

I only remember a glimpse of the long stretch of foliage and sun and clouds and _sky_ before I was brought back to my mother like a pesky toddler.

“Why are we meditating?” I ask to silence the humming in my ears. There’s something strange about the north tower, I know there is. There must have been a reason Brindellia didn’t want me up there and there must be a reason that the queen is taking me there now.

The queen glances back, her eyes cloudy but determined. “It improves our connection to life-force and increases our ability to communicate with the Starlaxi,” she repeats as though she’s reading it off a tin from one of the villages on Thundrian territory.

I stifle an eye-roll and just follow her silently. _Alright. I guess this is one of those ‘see it when you get there’ things._

And boy, do I ever see it.

It’s the same as I remember from my single glimpse as a kid. The sky is awash in blue and golden sunshine rains down from the Starlaxi to illuminate the expanse of foliage below. The treetops stretch for kilometres in every direction, a dappled ground of green.

“It’s beautiful,” I mumble, squinting in the sunshine.

“It’s not only beautiful, it’s the highest point in the castle. Aside from the Lunar Temple, this is the closest Thundrian place to the Starlaxi,” she murmurs reverently, gripping the white stone banister.

Once the shock of the luxurious landscape fades, I examined the balcony that we stand on. There are swirling engravings of swans and water and stars. “Wh…”

“It changes for each leader,” the queen informs me before I can even ask. “The King in the Trees had an eye for beauty and strength, and what better way to show that Thundria has a rich well of life-force than to waste it on frivolity? Of course, no knight from any other kingdom has ever been up here, so I suppose it was more the thought that counted.”

_The King in the Trees._ The epithet is familiar. I think back to historical texts and then remember him. _King Peyenoran Star._ It’s an archaic rule, but one the queen observes, which means I will too—after a monarch passes away, their life’s achievements are summed up in a title that is used to refer to them thereafter. Their real name is consigned to history.

I nod, acknowledging what she said about the life-force up here. _I can feel it. It’s… so strong._ I’m tempted to see if I can lift sand from the forest floor far below from this distance.

“Sit with me,” the queen instructs, and then to my horror, begins climbing over the balcony.

“Your majesty…?” I stammer, but she’s grabbed the banister and has perched herself atop it, her legs swinging into the void that stretches down fifty metres or more, then trees, then more to fall.

I swallow hard as I step over to where she sits, her legs kicking back and forth like a child.

“It’s perfectly safe,” she assures me. “If you fall, it will be onto the soft leaves below. Besides, my life-force is especially good at catching people…”

I’ve heard tell of her demonstration; she was being sung a nursery song by the window when, as a baby, she wriggled out of her mother’s arms and fell out the window. It was as she was plummeting that a slide of ice began to appear, slowing her descent before curving back upwards and dropping her back into her traumatized mother’s arms. It was unusually precise for a demonstration, which is usually just a total unleashing of raw power. Then again, the queen is nothing if not poised.

“Right,” I say nervously, but I hold the marble tightly as I swing one leg over, then the other, my grip tightening on the banister with each tiny movement until my knuckles are as white as the stone, and then ease myself into a sitting position next to her.

“Hm. Perhaps this was a mistake. It won’t work if you’re not relaxed, and you don’t seem to be relaxed here, but this is the best location…” the queen says.

“No! I can relax!” I insist, taking a deep breath and trying not to choke on my own tongue. _I could be a Samn-shaped splat on the forest floor within seconds. And nobody would have even known I was a girl. Well, except the queen, Spottalia, and Brindellia._ Both Rozel and Redde, the only other two, are… gone.

“Very well.” My conviction seems to amuse her. “Then keep taking those deep breaths, but try not to move your shoulders too much. The air should come from your belly, not your chest.”

I squint, but try to push out my breath with each inhalation. It’s actually starting to make me shorter of breath.

“Imagine you are a well, swelling with water, but it is power and air. Can you feel the Starlaxi?” she murmurs.

I take a deeper breath. This time I don’t feel so out of breath; my chest creaks a little, unused to such deep breathing. _I can feel it,_ I think, but say nothing, worried to ruin the moment. They’re all around me if I just reach out a little bit.

When I open my eyes, I realize I’ve gone to the fifth dimension.

I gasp and the world returns to normal. “Oh! I—dang, I lost it, but I—”

“You won’t be caught unawares again,” she encourages. “Try again.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing in the fresh air and feeling the sun shine on my face. _My family. Stretching back generations upon generations, all bringing me, my single self, to this one moment…_ I’m suddenly hit with a dizzying wave of wonder.

This time, when I open my eyes to see the fifth dimension, the Trace, I don’t flinch away. “Amazing…”

“Well done, Samn.” I flush with triumph at the pride in the queen’s voice. “Not many can find this level of the Trace so soon.”

Even in this strange, murky reality, the world around me is beautiful. The sunshine filters in shades of green and purple, the trees below almost black, and yet there’s still breath-taking tranquillity about it all. A thousand traces, speaking of water and leaves and wildlife, swirl through the air around me, waiting to tell me about when they passed through and where they are.

I can feel the sand on the floor of the forest with a strange acuteness. It’s almost as though I can… _smell_ it isn’t the right word, it’s more like… I can sense it. The same way you’d feel heat or the wind or the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. It’s there, just waiting for me to ask something of it.

“Bring some sand up to us,” the queen tells me and I nod, concentrating on the bright, hot feeling.

_Come up to me, all of you, surge up and spiral._

Thin streams of yellowish-gray begin to shoot up from the foliage, then wider, then it’s almost as if pillars of sand are erupting from the forest floor. They glow in the Trace and I concentrate.

The strength of it surprises me, but I hang onto the concentration, seizing the threads of power inside me and braiding them to my will. _Come up to me._

“Well done,” the queen murmurs at the edge of my senses as I pull the sand all together into a giant swirling sphere above our tower, quivering with effort. “You’ve already realized what you and Fiyr can do together, yes?”  
I falter and a couple of handfuls of sand rains down on us. _Together? She doesn’t mean as a couple, right? Because I—_

“His fire and your sand?” the queen pursues.

_Oh. Our life-force. Obviously._ I redden. “Um, yeah. I made a bird out of sand and then he sort of blasted it with fire and it turned into glass. It took a lot of time.”

“His fire isn’t very hot yet. He has incredible control and summoning ability, but he will require refinement to truly harness the power of the heat within him,” the queen comments. “I was the same way. Any knight with ice life-force can make spikes sharp enough to puncture a single freckle and nothing more, but they crumble easily. To push it past the point of brittle and icy, to the _true_ wrath of winter requires much more effort.”

I can’t help glancing at her sword. “Is that…?”

“Indeed. It was to remind me to aspire to more than spikes. To raise the Blacklands in the form of a blizzard, to protect my kingdom with the fierceness of the depths of winter,” she says reverently, tapping the sword. “You remember my simple steel sword?”

_Icicle._ I’ve never seen it, of course. The simple steel was forged long ago into the metal sliver that lies at her side, but I’ve heard tell of it. “Yes. Icicle.”

“It was my first goal. To reach the precision to create a single, long spike,” she tells me, laughing a little. “Shooting low. When I became a knight and received _Bluefur_ , I realized there was more to reach for. So when the King of the Sun appointed me captain of the guard, I knew that there was more for me in store and that my ambition would carry me through. That’s why my true-steel bears the name of my ultimate goal.”

I try not to clutch my face and squeal, but it’s a pretty good story. _I wonder what my true-steel sword will be._

“You have Bolt, named for Thundria, I presume?” she continues.

I nod, tapping the simple steel blade. “My loyalty.”

“You know that no knight, squire, or otherwise would dare question it,” the queen observes, her eyes sharp, “and yet you so named it nonetheless. Why?”

I scratch my head thoughtfully. _I guess ‘it sounds cool’ isn’t going to fly when she has a whole backstory._ “Er, I don’t want anyone to doubt my commitment to Thundria when the truth comes out,” I confess. It’s not entirely untrue. _Not necessarily why I named my sword that, but still._

The queen nods. “I see. But straight loyalty is a bare minimum. What more do you aspire to?”

I swallow, tilting my head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You’re an exceptional squire,” she compliments, “and it seems strange that all you want from the court is their understanding of your loyalty.”

“I want to make Thundria strong,” I venture uncertainly. “I want the court to recognize that I can make us strong. I want to be an asset. I want more than loyalty, you’re right. I want to be needed, to be necessary to the court. I want to be the knight that squires look to for guidance, that other knights shake their head at and wonder what they’d do without me.”

The queen’s face lights up in an almost gleeful grin. “Excellent, Samn, excellent. I knew it was there. You’re not the bare minimum and it is a shameful waste of talent to construct goals as such. Your loyalty is strong, no knight will challenge that, but you ache to prove yourself as a valuable knight.”

I nod fiercely. _Being a girl has jack to do with kicking the butt of every last knight that comes to try to harm Thundria. I can have lady bits and still put an arrow straight through the eye of a doe._

“Is it related to your secret?” the queen wonders aloud, and I hesitate. “Or does it stem from it? Or perhaps it has nothing to do with it at all.”

I flush, running my hand through my hair out of habit. “Uh, I actually… There’s a part of me that _wants_ the court to know. I want them to see me succeed, and then have to grapple with the fact that I did it all as a girl.”

Queen Bluelianna’s mouth hitches up in half a smile. “I had the same drive as a young knight, though I hadn’t been hiding it. It was the King in the Sun’s open mind that allowed me to—”

I can’t help cutting her off. “No! You did it on your own merit alone!”

“Merit is nothing in the face of prejudice.” She laughs sadly. “I could have been the greatest Thundrian knight that the kingdom had ever seen—”

“Which you were!” I insist.

“And there were knights that continued to refuse to believe I could lead.”

My fists curl at the injustice of it all. “But you were obviously a better choice than any other member of the court!”

“Ah. There was actually another knight that fought long and bitterly for my position,” the queen tells me with a sigh. “Thissel Cawle. The Sir Cawle you know was named for him; he was Thissel’s squire. Thissel was also Sir Strommer’s father. He was a knight full of burning need to prove himself, to achieve more, to rise above us—me.”

“But the king chose you,” I press.

“Indeed.” Her blue eyes glimmer in memory. “He made some... unsavoury accusations that day. Said it was because I was his squire, because I was _with_ him for my own gain—”

I choke. “ _What_?!” The idea of any member of the court challenging Bluelianna’s right to serve as captain is so outlandish I have to stifle a laugh, but the insinuation makes me so mad I could spit. “What a—what a—dillweed!”

Queen Bluelianna can’t help a cackle at that. “Indeed. He was a rather… disagreeable fellow. Not to mention… well, that’s irrelevant. I simply cannot tell what Snowlia saw in him.”

_Her sister,_ I recall. _Hang on._ “Thissel and your sister were—”

“Well, where do you suppose Sir Strommer came from?” she teases. “Yes. They… had relations. It is in the past though. What’s important is that Thundria is strong in the present.”

But her eyes are troubled. I fall silent, knowing it isn’t my place to press, but I can’t help curiosity at… “What about the prophecy?”

The queen falls off the balcony.

“Your Majesty!” I yell as she begins to plummet, but a sparkle of blue illuminates the air beneath her as a curved beam of ice begins to form beneath her, stretching faster than she can fall and hooking itself around the balcony. She slides, then it begins to send her upwards, then she is thrown from it and is flung back towards the balcony.

The queen lands heavily, but she braces well and doesn’t seem to be injured.

“Your Majesty!” I repeat shrilly, scrambling off the balcony and hurrying towards her.

“I’m quite alright,” she says, a hint of amusement in her voice despite her heavy breathing. “A little—shocked.”

“A _little?!_ I—I’m so sorry! I never should’ve—it wasn’t my place—I wasn’t thinking—” I babble, but she silences me with one pristine white glove.

“No, I reacted… er, poorly,” she says, still sounding amused. “You gave me a scare. I should have known that Spottalia would tell you, however. You are friends, aren’t you?”

I stifle a snort. “Er, yeah, kind of.”

“Then I suppose there’s nothing for me to try to conceal.” She shrugs. “Yes. _Solo el fuego salvará nuestro reino_. Fire alone can save our kingdom.”

I nod, trying to beat back the same surge of jealousy as from when I first heard it. “And you think it’s about Fiyr?”

Queen Bluelianna strokes the pommel of _Winter’s Wrath_ thoughtfully. “The Starlaxi is rarely so clear as that would imply—yet it was my own doing that named him Fiyr. His life-force, still, would indicate that it could be the truth. The simple answer is, I don’t know.”

I swallow. _But it’s too much to hope that it’s indicative of_ me _. What does sand have to do with fire?_ I berate myself. _It’s not me. I’ve got no destiny, just a secret and a lot of drive. I don’t need a destiny. I’ll make my own path._

“‘All will become clear in time’ is probably what Med Vhiskar would’ve told me,” she admits. “Never cared for that sort of the answer, however. If they desire to tell us a clear outcome, they would be specific. As it stands, I choose to believe that the outcomes are numerous and the future is in the hands of the present.”

It’s philosophical, but it makes a lot of sense to me. _Fire could mean anything, not necessarily in the literal sense. It could mean anything or anyone._ But I don’t dare let myself hope.


	21. Chapter 20 - Samn

Chapter 20 - Samn

As I make my way back down from the north tower, my blood suddenly freezes.

A hair-raising scream, and a familiar scream at that, rings through the stairway. _Brindellia. No!_

I bolt down the last steps and dash towards the nursery. I don’t even see Sir Cawle in my path until I crash straight into him, almost knocking him to the floor, but he catches himself and grabs my shoulder.

“Get a hold of yourself!” he spits. “She’s just giving birth.”

Despite the relief so strong it almost makes me sag, I yank myself out of his grasp and try to duck around him. “She’s my mother!”

“And you can give her some peace because of it,” he retorts, his eyes flashing in a dangerous way that I don’t like at all.

My fists squeeze so tight my nails feel like they’ll draw blood from my palms, but I know I can’t get into it right now. _And she probably does need peace. But… surely I can help her, somehow?!_

Seeing Tigre Cawle’s intractable expression and realizing that this is one area where I can’t do much to help, I whirl around and stomp off. _I need to eat something. Right now. Preferably paired with something caffeinated._

But when I get to the kitchen, I see Fiyr and Graie tucking into meals of what looks like little more than crackers, peanut butter, and carrots.

_Either they’re both lazy as the Blacklands or our stores are running low._ I check for myself anyway. Yeah, the pantry has more mice than food. I make a face as a tiny creature scurries past me. _I can’t very well eat a mouse…_

I growl, making coffee with the last scoop of the beans. Even the water in the tap looks like it’s less fresh than usual, though I’m certain that’s my imagination.

When my drink’s ready, I stomp into the dining hall. Graie and Fiyr have seated themselves right in the middle, so I’ll have a hard time sitting far from them no matter what table I choose. Sighing, I place my mug on the table a few feet away from where Graie is noisily devouring his ‘meal’.

“Who let the pantry get so low?” I grunt, sipping the bitter drink.

“Everyone’s been rebuilding; it’s hungry work, and no one’s gone out on a supply run for a while,” Fiyr answers.

_I wasn’t asking you._ Then again, I wasn’t asking Graie, which would mean I was just talking out loud like an idiot. And I’m not an idiot. At least, I don’t act like an idiot in front of Fiyr. Or Graie for that matter. _And I never ramble,_ I think sardonically.

“I’ll go out later,” I say, sighing. Fiyr’s mouth quirks up in a half-smile, but he hides it with his water glass. I think about snapping at him, but what would that solve, really?

My teeth grind together and I take a longer drink. _Stop overthinking everything, damn it, Samn._

“Where’s Ravne?” I demand instead.

For some reason, Fiyr’s face flickers into a bit of a frown, then back again. “He’s still on a task for Sir Cawle.”

My teeth grind more. “He’s Sir Strommer’s squire.”

“Sir Strommer’s kids are in the process of being born,” Graie cuts in. “He took a day off.”

The ache of Brindellia moving on from my father is old by now, but not entirely gone. _She just wants a fresh start,_ I repeat. _She’s not replacing me or Redde Tayle or anything like that. She told me that. I’m too old for that kind of petty jealousy._

“Where did he send him then?” I press. _There’s something going on with Ravne and it has something to do with Sir Cawle. Dammit, I need to know!_

Fiyr crosses his arms. “I don’t know.”

_Is he lying?_ I can’t tell. But what reason would he have to conceal it? Unless he’s concealing something because he’s Sir Cawle’s squire. Is he in on it? What did they do to Ravne?! I close my eyes tightly before my paranoia gets away from me. _No. He probably just wasn’t there when Sir Cawle gave him his task._ But that doesn’t help my anxious thoughts. _Ravne’s missing. Sir Cawle had something to do with this. Ravne’s missing._

“Pissed-fucking-dragonnuts—” Graie swears suddenly, wincing.

I can’t help a bemused giggle at his strange choice of cuss, then curse my own laugh for being so damn feminine. _Low chuckles! You practiced this! Blessed Starlaxi._

“Go to Spottalia Lief, you crazy orc!” Fiyr retorts. “Your leg is going to get infected!”

“I’m _fine!_ ” he replies with a scowl.

Unable to help myself, I interject, “You just said ‘dragonnuts’ so no, you’re not fine.”

“Listen to him, at least!” Fiyr begs, only seeming to be half-joking. “I don’t want you to lose the whole damn leg! Just swallow your pride and get to the healer’s wing.”

“Agh, fine, but let me finish my peanut crackers,” Graie barters.

“You’re both disgusting,” I comment, downing the last of my coffee.

…

Brindellia Faise’s labour continues through the last couple of hours in the day and keeps going straight into the night. I’m no woman expert, but even I know that it probably shouldn’t be taking this long. I can’t help the anxiety that twists my stomach but Spottalia threatened me with shoe the last time I was hovering in there with her, so I spend my time alternating between studying manoeuvres out of the aforementioned _Lieting Teil’s Ancient Thundrian Texts on Fighting_. I can’t focus for long before I’m back on my feet and tracing the perimeter of the room with my boots.

The moon is probably out. I leave the squire’s wing quickly, cross the carpeted stone of the deserted throne room and hurry onto the pavilion, both to check to see if I’m right and to escape Brindellia’s grunts of pain and effort.

I’m right, the moon is up.

But more importantly, I spot a figure silhouetted in moonlight crossing the pavilion toward me.

“Ravne!” I yell, relief soaking through my voice. _Thank the Starlaxi._ I won’t admit it aloud, but I was starting to think he might be dead.

He’s almost buckling from the weight of the giant boar slung over his back.

“Blessed Starlaxi, that’s massive!” I exclaim, running up to him, but he seems far from interested in compliments. His cheeks are white and his eyes have heavy, dark bags beneath them. I’m shocked; he seemed fine no less than a week ago, and now he looks positively _gaunt_. “What happened? Where were you? What took you so long?!”

As I pepper him with questions, he just shakes his head. He looks like he’s been to the Blacklands and back. I hoist the boar off his shoulders and he almost crumples in response.

“You look like shit.”

Still nothing.

“Are you gonna be able to walk, or should I find someone to help you?” I ask, a little more gently.

He looks up at me hollowly. “I can walk.” But his voice is so muddled and gritty that I can’t help my disbelieving stare.

We stagger back to the castle, him leaning heavily on my shoulder as we go, and make it through the doors without much trouble. “I was worried,” I say in a low tone, watching him. “There’s something going on, and I promise I only want to help you.”

He sighs like he’s been carrying the whole world on his shoulders. “I’ll tell you. But first, I need to sleep. I’m going to pass out.”

I nod and help him to the entrance of the squire’s wing.

He half-walks, half-collapses through his curtain and onto his bed and doesn’t move.

Ignoring the curdling of worry in my stomach, I haul the boar back to the kitchens. Frostialla gives me a hand as we go to work skinning it and preparing it for a meal.

“We can store the leftovers,” she says, her cheerful demeanour a far cry from the swirling terror of my mind. “Stratus has supplied us with some really nice cured, spiced ham in the past and I was thinking about trying to make it myself.”

“Cool,” I mutter.

Frostialla’s eyes flash. “I know it doesn’t seem interesting to you, but you and— and _the rest_ don’t take it seriously enough; stored meats are the things that last us through the winter and keep _you_ lot fed while you’re out on patrol.”

_Oh, she thought… I…_ “Not—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” I mutter.

She purses her lips.

_She couldn’t know the truth,_ I think, sighing. “Thank you. I’m going to get something ready for Ravne when he gets up.”

An approving look lights in her eyes. “That’s the way. So silly to think only women should be taking care of the court.”

_Ironic,_ I comment privately, but start a sizzling pan and get a slice of ham to cook. _But everyone’s more open when they’re full and maybe he’ll be grateful enough to confide in me. He said he would, anyway._

I drop the piece of ham onto the plate. _Better than usual, at least._ Part of the reason I’m so committed to not revealing my secret before I’m a knight is that if it means I have to pick up extra kitchen shifts, the whole court is going to be eating burnt venison and dandelion leaves for the next decade. I almost burned down the kitchen trying to make a piece of toast at one point.

I leave the plate on the counter and head to the squire’s wing to check on Ravne. I enter just in time to hear a spluttered gasp and then a yelp from his nook.

My heart jumping into my throat, I hurry forward and rip open the curtain to reveal him balled up, curled around his sheets and himself. His hair is ragged and plastered to his forehead with sweat, his face pale and glistening.

“Nightmare?” I ask.

He shudders. “Something like that.” He sighs heavily then pulls himself out of the cot. “Alright, I’m not going to be sleeping any more tonight. Did I smell ham?”

“Yeah, I figured if you were going to tell me your deepest darkest secrets, you should at least get a meal out of it,” I deadpan, heading to the kitchen and returning to hand him the plate.

“Thanks!” He brightens a little at least, then his face falls. “I said I would do that, didn’t I…”

I fold my arms and wait.

“Let’s go to the pavilion,” he says. “Nobody’s going to be there at this time of night.”

I trail behind him as he marches out of the kitchen. _Finally. There’s something going on, and I’m going to find out._ It’s gone beyond curiosity at this point; I’m almost terrified to find out what the truth behind the gauntness of his face, the fear that sparks in his eyes, Sir Cawle’s strangely threatening tones…

“You can’t tell anyone, though,” he mumbles.

_If it’s as bad as I’m starting to think it is, then I’ll be the judge of that._ “Alright,” I reply instead.

“I know he was your father, but you _have_ to hold yourself back,” he pleads as we reach the doors.

_My father? What does Redde Tayle have to do with any of this?_

“What? Should I be worried?” I say.

In reply, Ravne hurries out onto the pavilion and takes a seat on one of the non-cracked benches. “Alright. You wanted to know? Here it is.”

I sit beside him, staring at him.

“Well, today, Sir Cawle ordered me to hunt in Shodawa’s territory,” he confesses.

“He _what_?!” I yell, then clap my hands of my mouth. “Shit, sorry. But—wait—you—he—”

“That’s why it took so long,” he mutters, glancing down at the ham on his plate.

“But—that’s against the knight’s code!” I hiss as quietly as I can with my current level of outrage (which is quickly mounting). “That’s fucking illegal! You have to tell the queen! Why in the Blacklands would he do that?!”

Ravne swallows hard, the pale outline of his throat bobbing in the moonlight.

“Because four years ago, I saw him murder Redde Tayle.”

My throat goes dry. I try to swallow, but I can’t. I try to make sense of what he just said, but I can’t. I try to say something, _anything_ , but I can’t.

_He… killed… my father? Why… would he do that?_

“Samn, I’m so sorry,” he says.

I swallow harder. “It doesn’t matter. He’s dead either way.” The ice in my tone takes even me by surprise. “But—but why would he do that?”

But Ravne’s blue eyes are hollow; he’s checked out. “Sir Tayle ordered us back to camp, but I hesitated and I saw him… I saw Sir Tayle kill the Rivien captain of the guard, and then… and then Sir Cawle told me to go back, and then he threw Redde Tayle to the ground and Sir Tayle used his rust magic to screw up Sir Cawle’s sword, but he just… he sharpened his nails into claws—like a tiger—and tore his throat open.”

I double over and vomit.

Ravne seems to snap back to reality and hear what he just said. “Shit! Shit—I’m sorry! I shouldn’t—”

I dry heave again, then wipe my mouth on the back of my sleeve. A bitter laugh escapes me. “Not your fault, that shit’s been happening to me since I got my period. Yeah, big whoop, I’m a fucking girl. Now we’re even.”

“Excuse me?”

I stare him down, but Ravne just seems confused more than anything else.

“You’re a what?”

“I’m a _giiiiiirl_ ,” I say slowly. “I believe you’re familiar? Female? Woman? Chick? Gal? Lass? Lady? Bird?”

“Yeah, got it,” he stammers. “I’ve heard of them. But—you—oh, fuck.”

I laugh again. “Exactly.”

“Oh— _shit_.”

“More _importantly_ , what in the Blacklands are we going to do about Sir Cawle? He’s killing knights of our own court and breaking the code left, right, and centre,” I remind him.

“I _know_ , I just… I can’t tell the queen,” he mumbles.

“Why in the _Blacklands_ not?!” I demand.

Ravne stares at me searchingly. “You’ve seen what Sir Hartef’s death did to her. She trusts Sir Cawle to help Thundria recover. If she knew that he was planning a coup—”

“He’s _what_?!” I yelp.

“I mean, I’m almost certain that’s his end goal,” Ravne says quickly, forehead scrunching in anxiety. “He killed Sir Tayle hoping to be appointed captain in his stead, and then when Sir Hartef died, he finally got his wish, but he’s got his eyes aimed higher than just captain. He wants the crown.”

I feel like I’m going to be sick again, but there’s nothing to throw up anymore. _It’s all my worst fears. It’s worse than my worst fears. He killed my father and I’m going to fucking suffocate him._

“We have to do something!” I say.

“I’ve thought of everything,” he says, shaking his head. “The only thing to do is run and hope he doesn’t catch me.”

“He’s punishing you for knowing…” I say slowly. “In fact, I wager he’s probably going to try to kill you if he hasn’t already.” Ravne’s expression reveals that he knows that very well. “But he doesn’t know that I know. So if we can get you away from him, then maybe I and whoever else we can convince can stop him before he tries to hurt the queen or anyone else…”

“But who else are you going to convince?” he asked, his face crumpling.

I open my mouth, but then think it over. _Duss practically worships Sir Cawle, and Fiyr is his squire, and I don’t know if there’s any knight in the court that has anything against Sir Cawle. I know Queen Bluelianna was at odds with Thissel Cawle, but she obviously hopes that Tigre is different…_

“I—I don’t know.”

Ravne nods, sighing. “There’s nobody. There’s nothing that can be done.”

_That can’t be true!_ “But we still have to get you away from Sir Cawle; your life might be at stake here!” I point out. “That’s the first thing we have to do; we have to find somewhere for you to go… to leave the kingdom.”

He purses his lips but seems strangely resigned. “I know. I’ve made my peace with it, more or less. But I don’t think there’s anywhere I can go. Do you think I could flee to one of the villages? No… Sir Cawle would find me… I need somewhere far, somewhere safe, that I can live…”

_Somewhere far away but somewhere he could somehow also live…_

“The moor!” I burst out.

Ravne squints at me. “Wynnd’s moor?”

I shake my head vehemently, pointing out in a random direction. “ _Knave’s_ Moor, with Barrleigh!”

“Oh!” He blushes. “Wait, you think I should leave Thundria to live on the farm with Barrleigh?”

Despite the sombre deliberation, I can’t help jumping to my feet. “It’s the perfect solution! He’s a friend of the court, but the court rarely interacts with him, he’s obviously able to live there with relative safety and comfort, and he seemed to like you!”

“Really?” He runs a hand through his hair. “He did? I mean—that is—er, it’s a really good idea. But how are we going to get there?”

I raise my eyebrows. “A horse, you dolt.”

“Can you make the return journey alone?” he presses.

It makes me falter, but I have to brush it off; if he doesn’t agree, I’m worried that I won’t be able to think of anything else. “‘Course; it’s just a ride.”

“There’s one more thing,” he says, glancing out across the trees. “Sir Cawle is trying to make the court think I’m a traitor.”

“He is?!”

At first, I’m confused—how exactly does one go about trying to make him _look_ like a traitor? Framing him? Then certain memories begin to come together to form a cohesive image. _Sir Cawle staring at Ravne when he told the court to come to him with any suspicions, Sir Cawle making him hunt in Shodawa’s territory so when he returns, anyone that slips into the Trace around him will sense Shodawes trace on him, Sir Cawle’s meaningful glances and hard eyes…_

I swallow hard.

“And I think he’s already convinced Fiyr.”

“He what?” I feel like an idiot just echoing what he says with growing incredulity, so I cough quickly and add, “What makes you think that?”

Ravne shrugs uncomfortably. “He… he keeps giving me weird looks and I’ve seen Sir Cawle pulling him aside to talk to him alone… I think he put the idea in Fiyr’s mind, and then Fiyr started to notice everything else that Tigre Cawle was doing to point the blame in my direction, and now he’s convinced himself that I’m a traitor or something.”

“Pardon me, but that’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” I spit, unable to take any more of it. “Sir Cawle implied something so now Fiyr thinks you’re a traitor?”

“People flock to strength. Tigre isn’t popular for his sunny attitude. The court feels safe knowing that whatever tries to hurt him will also be attacking two hundred pounds of muscle and short temper,” Ravne points out quietly. “And that’s why they’ll rebel against the idea that he’s somehow not on their side. It’s too scary to imagine.”

“So they’re too fucking scared,” I growl, feeling angrier by the second. “They just need a bigger, scarier knight to follow around. Well, what about Sir Strommer? What about Sir Har—er, I guess not…”

“Sir Strommer is noble and loyal,” Ravne agrees. “But you don’t see him and have the same visceral reaction. It’s perception, nothing more, but it’s powerful enough to determine whether or not anybody will believe the truth about Sir Cawle.”

_Damned Starlaxi._

But he’s right. There’s virtually nothing I can do except try to help Ravne escape before Sir Cawle kills him.

“Aha!”

It’s like a fire starting in my mind as the idea comes to me, ironically enough. “What if… okay—tell me if you don’t understand—but if Fiyr really thinks you’re a traitor, then I have to assume that he’d want you out of the kingdom, since he doesn’t strike me as bloodthirsty enough to try to kill you, so wouldn’t he really be the perfect accomplice to take you to the farm?”

Ravne’s eyes narrow in thought, then his face brightens. “That’s brilliant! You know, call it wishful thinking, but I’m pretty sure that he thinks I’m being blackmailed or threatened or something; every time he side-eyes me, it’s a mixture of pity and suspicion. It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? I don’t have the motivation to betray Thundria, so it must be self-preservation. I don’t know _how_ he thinks I’m being threatened since Shodawa is far away and I could obviously just _not_ go near them, but he’s probably deep enough in his own paranoia that he’s figured out some way for it to make sense.”

I nod. “Well, that would only help, then; if you’re being threatened, if you left the kingdom, no one would be able to threaten you and you’d no longer be ‘a threat to Thundria’.” I coat the words in a heavy layer of sarcasm so he knows I’m not serious.

For the first time in weeks, Ravne looks carefree. He sighs in relief. “I think I might actually be able to sleep now.”

I laugh, the same giddy relief beginning to overwhelm me, though with the threat of Tigre Cawle still very much present, I can’t help having reservations. “That’s good.”

“And I won’t tell anyone about you,” he swears solemnly, covering his heart with one hand.

“About—oh fuck, right…” I’d almost forgotten I’d told him in a moment of insanity, probably. “Just more reason to get you out of the kingdom,” I tease.

He grins. “Night.”

“Goodnight.”

I wait out on the pavilion, alone with my thoughts as he heads back into the castle. _What am I supposed to do about Sir Cawle? Surely Queen Bluelianna would believe me. She_ would _, but would the repercussions be too great? What it would it do to her, if her last hope was turned traitor before her very eyes…?_

I shudder.

…

The next morning, the very first thing I do is rush to the nursery.

“Mom!” I call, not caring if I wake up half the castle or sound like a needy baby.

“Hush!” Spottalia appears in the doorway of the nursery as I rush towards her, holding a finger to her lips. “The babies are sleeping.”

_I have half-brothers and sisters!_ I feel a little light-headed. _What are they like? I wonder when they’ll demonstrate! What kind of life-force will they have?_

To my surprise, Queen Bluelianna appears behind Spottalia, who quickly steps aside to let the monarch pass. “See me in my private room once you’ve visited them,” she tells me raspily before crossing the throne room towards that room.

Spottalia beckons me forwards and I follow her into the quiet, clean nursery. It’s quite similar to the healer’s wing, though smaller than I remember. I suppose that’s because the last time I was here was when I was a little kid. Most of the beds sit unused and perfectly pristine, but my mother lies in one, propped up on a few pillows, and two cribs lie next to her.

“Mom?” I whisper, glancing furtively at the cribs. I’m no child expert, but I know that babies wake up if someone even burps too close to them and I don’t want to deal with screaming this early in the morning.

“Come, sit by me, Samn,” she says, looking exhausted but proud. “Meet your brother and sisters.”

I peek into the cribs and see all the babies nestled there, slumbering peacefully. _Cute._ I don’t feel any kind of spark immediately, but I can’t deny that they’re adorably tiny.

“Aww,” I say for Brindellia’s sake.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” she whispers reverently, leaning over and peeking at them alongside me. “I can tell she’s going to be a fighter.”

_My sister…_ The other two babies are much stiller; in fact, they’re hardly moving at all.

“The others are weaker,” Brindellia says, her face falling. “I… I think there might be a problem with them.”

I swallow. “Really? But… but babies don’t move too much ordinarily, right?”

Brindellia says nothing, simply staring at me with limpid green eyes.

Feeling a little sick, I back up. “They’re probably fine. I should go, the queen wanted to see me.”

My mother is silent as I leave the nursery hurriedly. _They’ll be fine. They have to be. I want to meet them properly._

Trying to put it out of my mind— _I_ really _don’t need more things to worry about right now_ —I walk quickly toward the private room behind the throne.

“Your Majesty? You wanted to see me?”

“Samn, come in.” The queen’s voice sounds from within.

I bypass Liang Teyl, who is trying to look menacing with his hand on the pommel of _Longtail_ but failing and push open the door.

The queen is seated at her desk, her normally tame gray hair in a frizz around her head. She looked a little dishevelled when I saw her in the nursery wing, but in the flickering torchlight of her private chambers, she looks positively unhinged. I falter in the doorway, but berate myself for being put off by such a silly thing as an appearance.

“Have you practiced your breathing since we meditated?” she asks without looking up.

I run my hand through my hair. “Was I supposed to?” I ask guiltily.

She purses her lips, still staring down at the papers on her desk. “I just thought you might pursue it outside of your lessons. You seemed to take to it rather quickly.”

“I’ve been practicing fighting manoeuvres!” I volunteer quickly.

“Fancy strikes will only get you so far, Samn,” she tells me distractedly. “You must harness the true living power within your own being if you are to prevail.”

_Sounds like a prophecy,_ I think, a little weirded out by her sudden intensity.

She sighs, pushing the papers to one side of her desk. “No matter. Your strength will come in time, and in the meanwhile, we will succeed against Shodawa’s tyranny with the power of Sir Cawle and the other knights of Thundria.”

I wince at the mention of her faith in Sir Cawle. _Ravne was right. She relies on him to keep her faith in the court alive. What would happen to her if she knew the truth? Is she cold enough to withstand it or will she shatter so much like one of those brittle icicles she told me about?_

“Uhuh,” I mutter.

“The strength of the court cannot come from the monarch alone, Samn,” the queen tells me sagely, vastly misinterpreting my response. “You will learn to understand and respect the power of a united kingdom.”

_That’s exactly the problem. Your captain of the guard is a traitor!_ But the words are stuck in my throat. _It would destroy her. What do I do? I’m a squire, how am I supposed to protect the queen?!_

“And Thundria will have to prevail after I am gone,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “I know you see me as invincible, but Samn, of my Nine Blessings, I have only two left.”

I gasp, then choke. “But—but when we went to the Lunar Temple, you told Sir Cawle that you still had four!” I exclaim. “Did you miscount?!” _How could someone miscount something so essential that if they lost it they would die?_

“I did not. I simply must appear strong to my court; yet I fear that I appear too strong to you,” she confesses, leaning forwards, her blue eyes blazing with intensity. “I am not a god. I am not of the maiorum. I am merely a queen.”

“Merely?” I echo, stomach twisting. “Don’t say that! You’re the life-blood of Thundria!”

“And the blood will one day run dry,” she pushes, and I shake my head, unable to accept it. “I will pass on, and a new queen or king will rise from my ashes. All fires burn out, Samn.”

My throat’s dry. “But Thundria needs you!” I protest.

She chuckles at that. “I’m not abdicating. I’m just telling you that—the Starlaxi willing—within your lifetime, I will die and the crown will be passed on to another knight. Perhaps Sir Cawle. Is he ready? It is for the Starlaxi to decide, as Fiythar would say.” She laughs again. “I suppose I’ll just have to wait until I’m among them.”

It’s too much.

I stand, needing to run or fight or _something_ , I can’t just sit here and listen to her predict her own death. _I can’t._

“I expect you to keep this conversation quiet,” she says, suddenly serious again. “Your attention is appreciated Samn, but I am no hero.”

_You are to me._ But I just nod and run out of her room, trying to blink back tears that I don’t even understand.

A horrible thought suddenly hits me.

_So this is what it feels like to have your faith shaken._ And all she said was that she was _mortal_. What if she’d told me she was a traitor? Who wouldn’t be destroyed? _I_ was shaken by what Ravne said, no question, but the queen has _so_ much faith in him! _It would destroy her._

“They’re gone!”

I hear the scream first, then realize it was Frostialla Fuor. _What now? Things couldn’t go much more wrong, could they?_

Then three things happen at the same time.

Sir Cawle reels back from where he was heading towards with healer’s wing with a shout.

Frostialla Fuor dashes into the throne room, still screaming.

And I drop into the fifth dimension in a protective response to the yells, only to feel the trace of Shodawa and Yllowei’s terror all around me.

“My children are gone!” Frostialla howls.

“Where is Yllowei Fennen?!” Sir Cawle shouts. “Spottalia Lief is dead!”

The court erupts into utter chaos.


	22. Chapter 21 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more intense chapter today, I think. Enjoy!

Chapter 21 - Fiyr

Sir Cawle’s grim face is the only thing I can see, then my muscles begin to move of their own accord and send me dashing towards the healer’s wing. _No no nonononono—_

Spottalia Lief is prone on the floor as though she fainted in the middle of walking out of the wing. But she’s too pale, too still, too still, too fucking still—

Bile rises in my throat.

I drop to my knees and grab her wrist. _Please please please—_

It’s too cold, too still, no pulse. Her doe eyes are staring blankly at the ceiling.

The world is too cold around me. _Where’s her heat? Her fire? She’s alive! She has to be!_ There’s enough warmth in me for both of us, I’ll find some for her, I’ll bring her back, she just needs heat—

“Fiyr! Get a hold of yourself!” the queen’s voice rings out.

I flinch and the fifth dimension evaporates around me and I see that I’ve lit the world on fire. Barely conscious, I pull the fire away from the walls and beds and Spottalia and suck it back into myself. _She’s okay, she has to be, she has to be…_

But as I stare at her still body, I can’t help feeling the flames rise again in my belly, then up out of the air where they’ve been lying in wait, ready to suck up and destroy the world—

_Smack._

I clutch my cheek, whipping around. It’s Samn. “You slapped me,” I say dumbly.

“You nearly burned the castle down! Knock it off!” he yells. “She’s dead! She’s not coming back! Burning us all to a crisp isn’t going to help anyone!”

“We just need Yllowei Fennen, she can heal Spottalia and then it’ll all be okay,” I reassure him, the solution coming to me like my mind catching on fire. “She’ll be back!”

“She won’t!” he shouts in my face, his own face reddening with anger. _Why’s he mad? It’s okay. Spottalia is going to be fine._ “She’s dead, Fiyr, she’s dead.”

I can’t help a sob that escapes me. _She has to be okay. Or it means that I couldn’t protect her. She told me… Fire will save the kingdom? But why does that matter if I can’t save her? I never even knew her. What the fuck’s the point of it then?_

It’s not until they start dropping onto the stone beneath me with little _plops_ that I realize that I’m full-on bawling in front of the entire court of Thundria and I don’t care.

“She has to be okay!”

“She’s _dead_!”

Someone grabs my shoulders and hauls me to my shaky feet. It’s Sir Cawle.

There’s only a tiny glimmer of sympathy in his hard amber eyes. “Shodawa did this, Fiyr. Save your grieving, because right now you will need your strength if you’re going to get any justice for her death.”

“How did it happen? How did _none of you stop this?!_ ” I howl, flinging an accusatory finger out at the gathered court.

“You’re making a scene,” Tigre hisses in my ear. “You’re going to be okay. Take a deep breath.”

He hauls me away from the witnesses that begin to cluster around Spottalia’s body.

I let Sir Cawle guide me away from them, needing strength that I don’t have just to stand. _How could they let this happen? How could_ I _let this happen?!_

“It’s okay,” he grunts. “It’s okay. You’re alive. Look at me.”

Eyes still filled with tears, I glance up at his hard expression.

“Crying won’t help. Justice is all that remains,” he tells me bluntly. “You’re going to have to get a hold of yourself or the queen won’t let you onto the battlefield and you’ll never have vengeance.”

I nod, gasping for breath

“We have to hunt down Yllowei and make her pay,” Sir Cawle growls.

I stop breathing. “Yllowei… did this? She couldn’t have… why?”

“She was a spy, Fiyr, all along, she was a spy! A traitor! Queen Bluelianna should never have let her join the court!” Tigre Cawle says vehemently. “She was planning it all along; we have to find her.”

The world seems like it’s spinning around. _Spottalia dead… Yllowei, a traitor?_

“My babies!” Frostialla’s cry.

_The children… abducted._

I swallow down more sobs. _Everything’s spun out of control so fast!_ “Okay, okay, I’m okay.” Clearing my throat and banishing the gaping hole of despair that’s opened up inside me, I look at him with determination I don’t have and say, “We need to catch her.”

“Fiyr!” It’s the queen.

I lift my head, dazed. She crosses through the throne room, ignoring the cries of the court. Her eyes are fixed on me.

“You saw Yllowei last,” she says urgently. “Where was she? Come to my room, Fiyr, we need to speak together.”

Sir Cawle releases his grasp on my shoulder and I follow the queen, still reeling. _Yllowei killed Spottalia? Yllowei Fennen killed Spottalia Lief? Lady Yllowei Fennen of the court of Shodawa killed Spottalia Lief of the court of Thundria?_ The words don’t fit together properly. _Why? Why would she do this to us?_ In the years that she’s been at court, I’ve never found reason to doubt her, but I can’t help the voice piping up in the back of my head. _Of course, she was loyal to Shodawa; it was her birthplace. Forget all her talk about ‘the way it used to be’, that was obviously just a lie to throw you off the trace._

“I saw her last? But she was in the healer’s wing with Spottalia!”

The queen looks back at me with pitying eyes. “Spottalia cannot tell us what Yllowei was doing.”

I swallow. _Right._

We reach the door and she pushes it open, revealing a much messier chamber than I recall. But there’s no time to comment on it.

“Tell me exactly when you last saw her and what she was doing,” the queen orders, her eyes narrowing.

I falter, trying to remember. “I just- I remember… it was late this evening. Or yesterday evening—I—I don’t know, she—I saw her leaving the castle through one of the holes in the wall ‘cause I remember thinking that it was pretty much the only one that hadn’t been repaired… Do you really think she killed Spottalia?”

“It wasn’t Yllowei who directly killed her, however, her involvement cannot be dismissed just yet,” the queen says gravely. “We found a trace of stoat-summoning life-force. Ring any bells?”

_Some fucker with stoat life-force—_

“Graie fought him—the battle after we came back from the Lunar Temple,” I tell her, suddenly feeling another wave of nausea wash over me. “How did he kill her?”

“We’re trying to determine that now,” the queen tells me, standing and making her way towards the door. “It seems to have been poison.”

“We have to hunt Yllowei down! She must know something!” I insist.

The queen turns back to me, her eyes cool. “If she’s a traitor, I’ll kill her myself. But I won’t let an innocent woman die. Besides, there will be no patrolling in this weather. When it has cleared, I want you to go out and find her. Take Graie and Samn with you. Duss, even, take as many as you trust.”

_This weather?_ I’ve lost all sense of time and space. Is it storming? Or is it hot? What season is it? _Spottalia is dead…_

I should have taken the chance to know her. She felt like my last link to the gods, somehow—her eyes… she reminds me of Prin. Reminded me, past tense, because now she’s gone.

…

She’s been moved onto the marble slab remarkably quickly.

I kneel by her body, mumble a half-hearted prayer to the Starlaxi and then stand. Gazing at her body, it’s hard to feel anything more than despairing anger at the stoat summoner, at Yllowei, and at anyone who would stand in my path towards revenge.

I breathe deeply, but the anger doesn’t leave me. “I’ll get vengeance,” I murmur, taking her cold hand in mind. “I’ll hunt whoever was responsible down and I’ll make them beg for mercy.”

Can I kill someone? I’ve never tried. If I need anger and motivation, I have it all in spades right now. _I could kill whoever stole such an innocent life from this world,_ I think with conviction.

As I leave her still body, I bypass the nursery on my way to the squire’s wing.

“Yllowei must have had help if she was able to take both of them,” Speikell Tiall is saying. “You don’t think it could be…”

“Ravne? I don’t know what to think,” Frostialla confesses, her voice raw. “He’s my own brother. How could he do something like this? But there must have been someone on the inside and I picked up the trace of Shodawa on him earlier…”

I freeze. _It was him it was him it was him he killed her he did it—_

And even if they found the trace of a stoat-summoner, if he was in on it, he’s just as guilty, far as I’m concerned. A red haze is descending on me.

_I have to find him_ now _! Even if he was being threatened, if he touched one fucking hair on her head—Is this what she meant about the prophecy? That I would avenge her?_

“Fiyr?”

“Samn, Samn, Samn, blessed Starlaxi,” I babble. “Ravne killed Spottalia! Where did he go? We have to get him—you were talking to him- did he confess? Did he kill her?”

Samn seizes my arms in his. “Hey! Relax, you’re not making any sense! He didn’t kill her; we found a trace from a stoat-summoner, and someone would’ve said something even they caught even a _whiff_ of _anyone_ else on the body.”

He’s making a lot of sense, but still! “But- but Ravne has—he’s still a traitor! I’ve—he’s—”

Samn’s eyes narrow a fraction, before he replies, enunciating clearly, “I’ve noticed it too. He’s told me that Blayke Fouhte has been threatening him. He didn’t realize what the Shodawes were planning and he’s going to try to escape to Barrleigh’s farm.”

Samn’s voice is oddly strangled, but I pay him no mind. “Really? But he had nothing to do with Spottalia—”

“He never meant for anything bad to happen to anyone. He was scared,” Samn tells me flatly.

I nod. “Okay, then we have to get him out of the kingdom. He’s not safe here.”

“Exactly!” Some life returns to Samn’s voice. “Let’s go. He’s waiting by the stables.”

I’m a little taken aback at how well they’ve already planned this, but I follow Samn anyways, then pause. “Can we bring Graie? I’m supposed to track down Yllowei and I’m supposed to bring him along.”

“Sure, just be quick,” he agrees.

I race off into the squire’s wing and find Graie sitting on his bed, looking completely dazed. “Graie! Ravne’s being threatened by the Shodawes captain of the guard and he’s not safe here; we’re going to ride out to Barrleigh’s farm.”

Graie stares at me. “Wha—okay? He’s being threatened?”

But I ignored his question and just grab him. We charge out of the wing together. I see Willowamina standing before the body of Spottalia. Before I can wonder if they were related, I remember the task at hand and continue my charge out the doors of the castle, across the pavilion and towards the stable.

“Ravne!” Graie yells out.

Ravne freezes and turns to see Graie, who barrels into him and wraps him in a bearhug. It’s then that I notice how bulky Graie has gotten. He’s always been about my height, but his boxy frame lends itself well to giving crushing hugs.

“It’s been an honour serving beside you,” Graie chokes out.

I can’t help cocking my head, slightly puzzled. _But Ravne’s a traitor, even if he was being threatened! Then again, it couldn’t have been easy, fearing for his life every minute like that. I can’t judge him._

“You too, buddy,” Ravne chokes back, but he’s not fighting back tears, he’s just being suffocated by Graie. “I’ll never forget what Thundria has done for me.”

Pressing back my uneasiness, I stride forwards and shake his hand.

“I’m sorry things had to end like this,” I say.

“I’ll be forever indebted to you and the court,” he replies, and I can’t help thinking _but not loyal?_

I hurry over to Blitz and mount up, bracing myself against the harsh winds. The blizzard came out of seemingly nowhere.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Samn says grimly, looking up at the black clouds. “Before we all freeze to death.”

…

As we ride, I come up beside Samn. It’s hard to talk in the raging blizzard, but I make an effort anyway. “Will Ravne be safe from Shodawa at the farm?”

“It’s not Shodawa you should be worried about,” Samn says ominously, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. “That was just a front so you’d agree to ride out with us.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?!” I yelp. _He’s not really being threatened? Then he’s a traitor for no reason? Or is Samn luring us out to…_ I can’t help the sudden fight or flight response that kicks in. _What’s going on?!_

“Wake up, Fiyr!” he says bluntly. “ _Sir Cawle_ is the traitor to the court and Ravne witnessed him kill my father in an effort to further his own ambitions. Ravne is in danger of Sir Cawle killing him to keep him quiet.”

All I can do is gape at him. “What in the Blacklands are you talking about? Sir Cawle’s not a traitor.”

“He’s not? I thought you’d be easier to convince since you latched onto the Ravne story pretty quickly,” Samn says cuttingly. “That’s right. No threatening, no betrayal. Ravne has been nothing but loyal and your precious mentor has had it in for him for years.”

I almost fall off my horse, but I steady myself with my old faithful; denial. “That’s crazy! Why would Sir Cawle kill Sir Tayle?!”  
“To further his own ambitions, like I _just_ said!” he snaps back. “He’s power-hungry and ready to kill to get his way. My father was the one that killed the Rivien captain, not Sir Cawle.”

I frown. “Killing is against the code! Did your own _father_ break it, then?”

Samn glowers at me. “I don’t have the full story; Ravne was the only witness.”

I jump on the vulnerability in his argument. “Oh, you don’t have the full story? Then why are you so convinced that Sir Cawle killed Sir Tayle?!”  
I have to blink snowflakes out of my eyes to fully appreciate the death-glare that Samn is giving me.

“Ravne was pretty _fucking_ clear when it came to that part,” he growls. “Sir Cawle is a traitor. Open your damn eyes.”

“I can see perfectly fine, and I’m telling you, he’s _not!_ ” I spit back.

Samn lets out a noise of pure rage that raises hairs on my arm. _He’s wrong! What the Blacklands is he talking about? This is insanity! Sir Cawle is nothing but loyal!_

“Is it that there isn’t enough proof or that you’re too weak to accept the truth?” he accuses coldly. “Can’t imagine a world where Sir Cawle won’t always be there to give you a hug and tell you it’ll all be okay?”

My teeth grind together. “He’s not evil! And he’s _not_ a traitor!”

“Stop repeating a lie that you want to believe and look at the facts!” Samn shouts back, the blizzard howling louder than ever. “You’ve lost your damn mind just because your _precious_ Lady Lief kicked the bucket!”

“Don’t talk about her!” I scream, my cheeks bright red with cold and anger. “Don’t bring her into this!”

“I wish she was alive too, but you have to face it! And besides, she was too old for you and a damn healer, for the Starlaxi’s sake,” Samn snaps.

The cold, stinging wind in bringing tears to my eyes. The accusation stings more, though, and words spill out of my mouth like venom. “I wasn’t in love with her! Fuck you!”

I feel like I’ve crossed a line as Samn stares at me, the look in his eyes made unreadable by the snow that shoots by us as we continue the journey. He must hear something in my voice, though, because whatever next bullshit he’s about to spout, he shuts up. Sir Cawle isn’t a traitor. He can’t be. If he is… then… then all is lost.

We can’t go any further than the village near the border of Shodawa, Cirrus, and so when we ride into town, we find stables and head to a local inn for the night. Samn’s stonily silent and I try to avoid looking at him.

The warm, wood interior of the inn is a welcome change from the howling gray skies outside and I breathe out shakily as I feel my fingers beginning to defrost. The gazes of a dozen or so villagers turn to us as we come in, then turn away again when Samn slams the door shut against the icy wind. It smells like spices and meat inside.

“Have you got any money on you?” I mutter to Graie.

“I always carry some,” he replies, rattling his belt.

“Two rooms left,” the innkeeper informs us. “You alright sharing?”

I glance at my fellow squires. Graie nods, and the others soon follow suit.

“Three coppers per.”

“Have you got enough?” I mutter to Graie.

“Yeah, my favourite pastry shop is expensive; I carry plenty,” he mumbles back. “This is cheap, actually. Hopefully, the rooms aren’t too bad.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated,” Samn tells the innkeeper pompously.

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t go screwing up the rooms. Or in them,” she says brusquely, waving us off as Graie pays.

We wait by the stairs. There seems to be some sort of bar on the lower level and I watch the villagers as they laugh and eat and play cards. _How did my life get so complicated?_

“I’m rooming with Graie,” Ravne says timidly.

“Absolutely not,” Samn immediately retorts. “I’m not rooming with someone who’d rather lick the boots of a traitor than hear the truth.”

Scowling at Samn, I turn back to Ravne stiffly. “I’d rather not share a room with Samn either.”

To my surprise, Ravne draws himself up to his full height, not bending over awkwardly like he usually does, his blue eyes flashing in the torchlight. “Too-fucking-bad. I’m the one whose life is in immmm—imminent danger, so I get first pick.”

There’s not much I can say in the face of that and Samn knows it too.

We stand in stony silence as Graie finishes paying and leaves with innkeeper with a fond grin on her face. _Where did he learn that kind of effortless friendliness?_ I’m jealous for a moment.

“Ah,” Graie comments wisely as he sees the glares on both of our faces. “You’re sharing a room, I take it?” He glances at Ravne for confirmation.

Ravne folds his arms self-consciously and manages a cute scowl. “I’m the one whose life is in imminent danger, so I get first pick,” he repeats.

Graie holds up his arms in surrender. “All good by me so long as Samn doesn’t murder my friend.”

“No promises,” Samn growls, but I think we both know I’m more than capable of fighting him off. As long as there’s fire in the room.

We head up to our rooms at the end of the hall. Glancing at the doors we pass, I wonder how many ordinary people are slumbering there with their weak life-force and their bland lives. I’m starting to think I wouldn’t mind trading lives with them.

The rooms seem fine if a little unfurnished. There’s only one problem. There’s also only one bed.

“I’m not sharing a bed with _you_ ,” Samn hisses.

I’ve reached my breaking point. “Then I guess you’re going to have to take the floor!” I shout, trying to keep my voice down and failing.

Samn glances at either wall, his gaze panicked. We stare at each other for a few tense moments before it becomes clear that we didn’t wake up any other patrons.

“We’ll share the bed. But if you put a single toe onto my side, there’ll be Blacklands to pay,” Samn threatens, his gaze darkening.

I glower back. “I don’t find you _that_ irresistible; I think I’ll manage just fine.”

“I’m going to go find a bathroom to change it.”

“Fine!”

“And I’m taking three of the pillows.”

“Then I’m going to go find a candle.”

“And keep it burning all night? I don’t think so.”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“I’m not going to kill you in the middle of the night,” he snaps, stopping in the doorway and turning back to me with a frown, then heads off to find a bathroom to change in.

“Oh really?” I call after him, but he doesn’t deign to respond. Grumbling with annoyance, I strip off my cloak and tunic and scramble into the bed.

_Whatever. I don’t need fire to beat him senseless with Rusty._

I don’t know what it is about Samn that gets under my skin like this. He’s just so- so- _Argh. So annoying. Strutting around and thinking he’s so great because he could shoot a bull’s eye at twelve and he’s the queen’s squire and he’s the son of the former captain of the guard and he doesn’t act at all like his body is three sizes too big and he has really nice hair—_

I groan, rolling over.

Remembering how much I wanted him to like me at first makes me cringe. _I was pathetic. Now I don’t care about Samn. At all. Nope. And he’s obviously crazy if he thinks that Sir Cawle would_ ever _betray Thundria._

I just have to hope things look better tomorrow morning.

When Samn comes back in, I pretend to already be asleep.

I think he can tell I’m lying.


	23. Chapter 22 - Fiyr

Chapter 22 - Fiyr

Samn’s shaking me awake.

“What?” I demand groggily. “I don’t wanna train…”

But then I realize the smell and sound and sight is all wrong. “Where… oh yeah…” The events of the last days crash down onto me like a ton of bricks. “Fuck.”

“Get up; we’re leaving in fifteen minutes,” he says. He’s already dressed. Obviously.

I retreat further beneath covers and surreptitiously wipe my face to make sure there’s no dried spit on it. I groan, exhaustion still tugging me down into the bed.

Knowing staying in bed for any longer will forfeit breakfast, I haul myself out and pick up my clothes from where I dropped them in a heap yesterday. I actually fell asleep pretty fast, all things considered. When Samn’s just breathing and not being an obnoxious bastard, he’s actually pretty good company.

We thank the innkeeper, grab some food for the road, and spur our horses out of the stables back onto the road towards Knave’s Moor.

The ride is mostly quiet seeing as the blizzard of yesterday has passed, though I can feel the unresolved issues of the accusations against Sir Cawle hanging in the air between Samn and me. _He isn’t a traitor, he can’t be._ Though as desperately as I want that to be true, I also have a strange ache to repair things with Samn. Certainly, we’ve never been _close_ , even at the best of times, but every time I look at him, I have a hard time wondering what it would be like to know him, to _really_ know him.

And also maybe to kiss him.

I almost fall off my horse as the thought appears to me unbidden. _No! Absolutely not! I will not be moony-eyed over that jerk! Just because he’s handsome and smart and strong doesn’t mean I should be thinking about… um, that stuff. I don’t want to know him like that. I don’t care if his lips are as soft as they look. Is he warm or cold? Oh, right, I don’t care!_ I tell myself firmly.

_Besides, he wouldn’t look twice at me._ But I can’t help flushing bright red when he glances over at me.

“You’re falling behind,” he snaps.

I say something intelligent like ‘Gneursh’ and spur Blitz on faster. _Whatever! I don’t care! I can think he’s good looking but simultaneously acknowledge that he’s a rotten guy and the most I can hope for is ‘polite’, and even that’s a stretch._

I’ve always been sort of half-aware of the pull of Samn, but his attitude has so far been good at killing any attraction that his looks might raise. Apparently, now that he’s making insane accusations and dragging me out into a blizzard because of some half-baked conspiracy theory about Sir Cawle, my brain’s decided to throw caution to the wind and start mooning over him.

_Whatever._

I manage to make it to Barrleigh’s farm with the rest of them without looking like an absolute clod in front of Samn— _or Graie, or Ravne,_ I tell myself firmly. “Did you sort this out with Barrleigh ahead of time?” I question, trying to sound neutral and sounding like I have a frog in my mouth instead.

“Obviously not,” Samn snorts. “He’s too far; we just have to hope that his warmth will extend to adopting Ravne.”

“He’s not adopting me!” Ravne protests, colouring.

_Ah._ Now that I’m getting more experienced with stupid, hopeless, idiotic feelings, it’s a little easier to recognize them. “Oh, I see what’s going on.”

Graie and Samn give me disbelieving looks, clearly communicating, _Really? Just figured it out?_ and Ravne lets out a strangled yelp. “There’s nothing going on!”

“Alright,” I say, shrugging and fighting off a smirk.

But Ravne’s not letting me off the hook that easily. “Well, we all know you’ve only had eyes for Samn for the past four years!” he retorts, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Now I yelp. “No! You’re imagining things. There’s nothing going on between us!” I jerk a thumb between Samn and I. _Obviously. The real question is,_ could _there be something going on?_ I glance at Samn; even he seems to have relaxed about the Sir Cawle situation enough to get in on the teasing too.

“You wish.” Samn tosses his head arrogantly. “I’m a catch.”

And damned Starlaxi, my traitorous stomach does a flip. I groan. “Let’s just get to the fucking farm before I kill all of you.” My cheeks are red. _Because of the cold._

“What did _I_ do!?” Graie protests.

“You didn’t defend me, for one,” I whine. “Come on; just gonna let them take the piss out of me?”  
“Defend you from what? The truth?”

He dodges as I throw a half-hearted punch. “Hey! Attacking a fellow squire! Code-breaker!”

Despite the embarrassment provoked by Ravne’s counter-accusation, I can’t help feeling much better than yesterday. Now that we’re out of the court, everything to do with Thundria just feels like a bad dream.

Before Graie and I can get into a proper fistfight, Barrleigh emerges from the picturesque, snowy barn, looking just as sweaty and middle-of-serious-farm-business as when we first met him. The same bright smile is fixed on his face. _Does time even pass here?_

Ravne laughs with a hint of giddiness, calling out carelessly to him, “Mind if I live here?”

“No problem,” he replies with a laugh. “Got a spare bed set up unless you want to share, but I gotta warn you, they’re kinda cramped.”

“It’s not a joke,” Samn says, then shakes Barrleigh’s hand— _What is it with him and shaking hands?_ I wonder irritably—and explains, “We actually need you to take Ravne in. We have _good_ reason to believe his life is in danger—” he shoots me a searing glare, “—and if you could provide a safe place for him to stay until everything is sorted out, Thundria would be forever indebted to you.”

Barrleigh can’t help an incredulous laugh. “Shit, you knights really get into it, eh? Well, I don’t know about ‘forever indebted’ or whatever, but I sure can find room for him in the farmhouse. Lots of people pass through these parts and I keep an extra room. I’m sure it’d be perfectly fine.”

Ravne’s mouth hitches up into a sad half-smile as he looks back at us. “Well, I guess I’ll see you… around,” he tells us.

“We’ll deal with Sir Cawle quickly so you can come back,” Samn promises him.

“Mhmm.” But there’s a strange hesitance in his eyes.

Unable to hold it in, I hurry forward to face him directly. “Are you certain that Sir Cawle killed Sir Tayle?”

Ravne lowers his voice, his blue eyes bright with an intensity I’ve rarely seen from him. “He used his life-force to sharpen his nails and tear his throat out.”

That’s… grisly. I must be making a face because Ravne draws back and gives me a searching look.

“I know you don’t believe it—” he mumbles, “—but trust me when I say, I tried to deny it for weeks. I tried to cover it up any way I could, but it wasn’t enough for Sir Cawle; he had to silence me for good. He started spreading rumours, making comments, implying things to other members of the court… he turned my own family against me.”

I’m starting to feel sick. I back away, but Ravne hasn’t finished.

“I know it’s hard to hear that the anchor is the thing making you sink in the first place, but the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can save Thundria. What reason do I have to lie? I’m giving up my home and family because of what I saw; the least you can do is accept the truth,” he says, clapping me on the back and then backing up to stand next to Barrleigh. “Please, Fiyr. For Thundria.”

Part of me is altogether too convinced that he’s telling the truth, but I’m still unable to accept it. _But Sir Cawle was so reliable and strong… how could he turn against us like this?_ My gaze flicks back to Samn. His jaw is set in stone and he’s avoiding my gaze pointedly. _Great._

“We have to go find Yllowei,” Graie says, shattering the moment. “Frostialla’s children are missing and if Yllowei had anything to do with the murder, we’re going to have to hunt her down.”

“What will you do if Sir Cawle comes looking for me?” Ravne asks nervously.

Samn turns, his frame illuminated by the rising sun. “No one looks for a dead man. You’ll have died bravely in battle, fighting for your kingdom all along.”

Ravne nods with a sad smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least we could do.”

…

We pick up the faintest trace of Yllowei back past the Thundria border. Well, Samn does. It’s almost the middle day when we’ve found a reliable trace—however weak—to follow.

Our silent journey is interrupted when we arrive on the soulpath.

“We’ve all done this before,” Samn says firmly, answering our unspoken fears. He’s dubbed himself the leader of our little group, and I’m not in the mood to pick a fight.

“I’ll cross first,” Graie volunteers, stepping forwards and bracing himself.

When the yellow light of his life-force flares up, far brighter than it was the first time we tried to cross, I know our life-forces are strong enough to handle it, no problem.

As I expected, we all manage fine. I comb the sand out of my hair with my fingers—Samn’s protective wall of sand got a little out of control once he was on the other side of the path.

“Always thought I’d have more knights by my side when I first crossed into Shodawan territory,” Graie attempts to joke, but it falls flat. “Heheh.”

“Are you scared?” Samn asks bluntly.

“Aren’t you?” Graie chuckles nervously. “Mom always told me ‘don’t steal cookies or Shodawes knights will come to chop off your toes’.”  
Samn lets out a shocked giggle, a weirdly high sound for the gruff-voiced squire, then clears his throat loudly. “No. My mother preferred to summon animals to drag us away from the cookies rather than make grisly threats.”

“My mother never said any of that,” I volunteer awkwardly.

We fall silent as we continue tracking the trace through Shodawes territory. I hate this forest; it feels nothing like the Thundrian forests. The trees are too cramped and smooth and it’s way too quiet.

Eventually, we all stop. “I can’t track shit over the wetness,” Graie complains. “The Shodawes trace is too strong.”

Samn nods with the telltale unfocused look of something in the Trace, then a stricken expression appears on his face as he leaves it. “A child was bleeding here. A _Thundrian_ child. Unmistakable.”

I had assumed that she wouldn’t hurt the children. It seems that I may have been wrong. “It can’t be,” I croak.

“It is,” Graie confirms. “And I think Yllowei’s trace is getting stronger over there, it’s kind of hard to tell though.”

I hurry over to where he indicated and peer through the misty forest. “Guys!” I whisper and wave them over, pointing at an old ash tree a little ways away. Something, or someone, is sitting at the base of it.

“Yllowei,” Samn breathes.

“I’ll go west, Samn come from the east, and Fiyr, go head-on,” Graie suggests in a low tone, and we all comply silently.

I wait for the other two to creep around into position before I step forwards, the rage in my stomach simmering to the surface once more. “Yllowei Fennen.”

She whips around to stare at me in shock when both Graie and Samn surge out from behind their trees and knock her down, Samn pointing Bolt at her throat.

“ _Putain de merde!_ ” Yllowei growls, before casually pinching the tip of Samn’s sword and steering it away from her. “I knew you numbskulls would blame me.”

“Where are the children!?” Samn demands, undeterred.

“I don’t know,” Yllowei says, sighing. “I came out here to take them back, but when I found the blood trace…”

“Fat chance,” I spit. “You will pay for what you did to Spottalia Lief.”

“What has she got to do with any of this?” Yllowei demands, looking utterly bewildered, but something in my expression must give it away and her face draws into a tight frown. “Not her. She was so young.”

“She didn’t know, let’s leave her,” Samn says.

“What!? She’s lying!” I protest.

Samn’s face bunches in such tight anger that I half-expect him to slap me again, but it passes just as quickly and he simply shakes his head. “Fiyr, you can’t just accuse everyone of lying because you find the truth inconvenient. We’ll find justice for Spottalia, but not here.”

I ache to protest, to argue, to push, but just as quickly as the anger came, the despair returns. _I’ll never avenge her. Her death meant nothing._

“I found the trace of Clehw Fiace, a Shodawes knight, by the nursery. I knew I had to hunt him down before he could harm them; as long as they are within the reach of Braukkin they are in grave danger,” Yllowei grunts.

“He would harm children?” I ask.

“He intends to use them as knights. And if they die along the way, so be it,” she says coldly.

Graie’s eyes widen. “They’re like six years old! How are they supposed to fight?!”

“Children younger than that have been put on the battlefield on his orders,” Yllowei says grimly.

_The Shodawes squires, all those years ago,_ I realize like cold water splashing over my head, _weren’t squires at all. They weren’t just_ little _, they were actual little kids. Blessed Starlaxi._

“They wouldn’t even survive a single battle,” Samn says, finally sounding shaken.

“It doesn’t matter when he can easily steal more from other courts,” the old healer replies, laughing in a horrible, bitter sound. “He’s killed plenty from Shodawa.”

We stand in stunned silence.

“How has no one tried to stop him?” I demand helplessly.

“He _lied!_ Obviously!” Yllowei shouts, finally looking properly upset. “He took those _children_ , too young to be far from their mothers, and he trained them. He fought them. He brought them back, beaten, bloody, and _broken_. There was nothing I could do for them. And then he blamed it all on me and told the court that he’d found me standing over their bodies. Fucking. Children. And everyone believed him because they were bloody cowards who couldn’t come to grips with the idea that the guilty party wasn’t an easily defeated elder.”

The last part makes me flinch. _That’s not—I’m not—_

We all stand in the rain for a long moment before Samn finally says, “We need to bring this information to the queen.”

Yllowei laughs, the same hoarse, cold sound. “With the children still in danger? I think not.”

“We’ve been out for too long,” I realize aloud as I look up at the sky. “The court will be demanding justice, and Queen Bluelianna has probably sent out a battle patrol. We have to rescue the children tonight. _Now._ ”

“If Sir Cawle is on the patrol, it’s not going to go well for us,” Samn says, and jerks his thumb in Yllowei’s direction. “He’ll execute her first and ask questions later.”

I’d already forgotten my anxieties about Yllowei and Sir Cawle, but they all come rushing back with Samn’s comment. I’m still overwhelmingly relieved that Yllowei isn’t a traitor—having her blunt, straight-forwardness back is a relief, especially in the face of all these conflicting stories and accusations. _I can rely on her. She’ll make sense of things._

“Lead us to where the kits are,” Samn commands and Yllowei hauls herself to her feet using the tree as a support.

“Well, you got bossy in the couple days I was gone,” she grumbles, but sets off nonetheless.

“Why didn’t you tell the court that King Braukkiniaum was lying?” Graie asks.

Yllowei seems to chew on that one for a minute. “I—I couldn’t. He was the King, and his word was law.” It sounds like a lie to me. _If she’s that bad at lying, then that means she was probably genuinely shocked to find out about Spottalia,_ I tell myself. _I hope. That would mean she’s innocent._ Or is this just me looking for another reason not to suspect the people I rely on of doing bad things? My head hurts.

“We need to hurry!” I pipe up. “I think the Thundrian patrol is coming as we speak.”

“Let’s mount the horses,” Samn suggests. “Yllowei can ride with me.”

With little complaint, the old healer clambers up onto Dune and settles herself behind Samn. Graie and I mount Quicksilver and Blitz and we set off at a much faster pace towards the Shodawes castle.

“What are we going to do once we get there?” Yllowei eventually asks as we pass another clearing and stream into still more pine forest.

“Uh…” Graie and I exchange glances.

“Stop the horse,” Yllowei grunts to Samn, then hops down and hobbles over to jab a finger at us directly. “Have you lost your minds? You will storm the Shodawes castle with three squires and an elderly healer—how do you think that will go?”

We awkwardly nod. _Point taken._

“We need a real plan,” Samn pipes up— _Helpful_ , I think—but then adds, “and I think I have just the thing. Yllowei, are all the knights of Shodawa loyal to King Braukkiniaum?”

The healer scowls. “There are his inner guard; those that are truly loyal to him and would fight to the death on his behalf. Then, there are the cowards of the court, who flock to him only because they know the alternative is being killed for disobeying their king. There are the hungry knights that will fight with him so long as they believe he will win. But most importantly, Braukkin makes the elders live on the outskirts of the territory.”

I make a face. _Most importantly?_ “And old people will help us how?”

“They may be old, but they’ve had decades more than you to refine their life-force mastery,” Yllowei snaps. “They would fight for the Shodawa that we love, fight against everything that the _king_ believes in. They are the only true members of the Shodawes court left.”

Samn nods thoughtfully. “And how long would the ride be to the place where they’ve been sent?”

“It isn’t far; they’re residing in the village of Vide as far as I know,” Yllowei tells us. “If I could talk to them, I’m sure they would fight alongside us all.”

Samn smiles. “Fiyr, Graie, you’re going to intercept the patrol and tell them the truth about Yllowei and the children. Yllowei and I are going to go to Vide and remind those old folks what they’re fighting for.”

I nod nervously. _I can convince a bunch of enraged knights that Yllowei is in fact, totally innocent… right? Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be fine._

Samn looks at me, his gaze so sharp it seems to pin me to the air, then his mouth hitches up in a half-grin. “Yeah. You’ll do great. Just don’t die.”

I smile weakly back. _There’s a future for us, I hope. Even if the whole world crumbles around us._

“Better get your best convincing faces on,” Samn directs and then glances back to Yllowei with a cocky grin. “Let’s go give a rousing speech, old-timer.”

And I will swear it by the stars until the day I die, Yllowei slaps his open palm.


	24. Chapter 23 - Samn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I'm so sorry TTwTT forgive me this whole situation has made me weirdly anxious and I went so long without publishing on here that my dumb ass monkey brain was like "well now you CAN'T publish"... enjoy.

Chapter 23 - Samn

I’m starting to feel bad for Dune.

She pants and whinnies beneath me.

This is our second day riding in a row. I fight the urge to spur her faster. I hope she rested well in the stables at the village we stopped in, because we need to make good time to Vide and I can already feel her tiring. I’ve never thought of myself as attached to my horse in a sentimental, but I don’t want to ride her to death.

“Can she go faster?” Yllowei asks from her perch right behind me.

“She’s too tired!” I snap protectively, gripping the reins tighter, half-expecting her to try to grab them away from me. “Let her be! I won’t ride her to death for your kingdom’s sake.”

“That’s not why I was asking,” Yllowei informs me, and a moment later I hear her draw a sharp breath. “ _Elle est épuisée._ ”

Her whole shtick of speaking Old Shodawes every ten seconds is starting to get on my nerves. Call me paranoid, but I feel like she’s having a joke at my expense. What could she be saying that she doesn’t want me to hear? Unless it’s unconscious. But still, I don’t like it.

Suddenly, Dune spurs forwards, far faster than she was going a moment ago. We’ve jolted from canter straight into a gallop. The path in eaten up in front of us as she darts onwards.

“What the f-”

I feel Yllowei slump forward, her gnarled hands curling like claws around my shirt to steady herself. My first instinct is to twist around and shove her off the horse, but I stay still, knowing she was only hanging on and not trying to launch an attack. _Dune can’t keep this pace at her level of exhaustion!_ But… she doesn’t seem tired. In fact, it’s like all her fatigue was somehow sucked away by something… wait a minute.

My eyes flutter shut and I hope that Dune can guide herself for a moment as I find the edges of the fifth dimension around me and I slip into it. I have to admit, it feels easier than it was before I meditated on the north tower.

And there it is.

My instinct was correct; the thick feeling of someone’s life-force, like burnt sugar, fills my senses. It’s coming from both Yllowei and my horse, now. I pull myself out and twist my head around to look at Lady Fennen with newfound interest.

“You have fatigue or energy life-force or something?” I question. _Just like Mauzian Fyrra. But why in the Starlaxi’s name would she make herself exhausted in the process? Does she have really weak life-force and just doing that much for Dune made her this tired? But how was she a healer with life-force that weak?_

She doesn’t reply.

_Annnnd she fell asleep. Fantastic._

The only sound is now the whistling of wind in my ears, Dune’s occasionally whinny, and of course, Yllowei’s rumbling snores. _Did she somehow absorb Dune’s energy level? Seems like kind of shitty life-force. Unless she can absorb more than just fatigue…_

I can’t help being curious. Alchemists’ life-force has always been a hundred times more interesting to me than the life-force of summoners or elementalists. _The properties of things determine so much about them. With the power to change them, right in the palms of your hands, the possibilities are endless. I don’t care if some idiot thinks that hitting it with a bigger rock is somehow going to fix the problem; alchemy is so much more versatile._

The pine forest is thinning around us. I think I’m starting to see a path beneath Dune’s hooves. _To Vide?_ I wonder hopefully. _About damn time!_

But the scenery hasn’t changed enough to hold my interest for long. With Yllowei passed out and anxiety twisting my stomach, it’s hard to focus on anything besides my racing thoughts. Vide looms on the horizon, and so does the battle against King Braukkiniaum and his group of ruthless ‘knights’.

_Is this actually a good idea? Maybe Fiyr was right. What will a bunch of old people be able to do about King Braukkiniaum-fucking-Star? What is ‘refined life-force’ going to do versus ‘sword to the kidney’? Not a whole lot. Even if they_ are _strong old people, they’re still… old. If they’re strong enough to take down the king, why wouldn’t they have done it already?_

_I wish I could’ve just stuck with Graie and Fiyr and found the Thundrian patrol and stormed the castle instead of all this ‘cloak and dagger recruiting old people to fight Shodawa’s best and most brutal’ business. At least I_ know _Thundrians._

And I’ve always felt more at ease with the other squires by my side. Then again, after the little incident in the village that we stopped in last night, I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing to be away from Fiyr for a little while. _And to think I was complaining so much about rooming with him, and my traitorous unconscious goes and…_

Just the memory of waking up curled around him is enough to send heat flaring in my cheeks. _Stupid stupid stupid. The kingdoms are endangered and you’re mooning over some boy? He thinks you hate him. You_ do _hate him. Remember the prophecy?_

At least I was dressed and out the door before he could wake up and see the compromising position. _Besides. I was asleep. He was probably just warm and my body decided it wanted to be warm too,_ I tell myself firmly. _It had nothing to do with anything. I refuse to read into it. It wasn’t some kind of instinct to… to do anything. Except be warm. But I have plenty of body heat. Whatever!_

The forest has turned into something closer to ‘field dotted with pine trees’ and I hope that means that Vide isn’t far. Sure enough, if I squint, I can see what looks like a couple of squat houses and buildings all the way across the field and through the trees.

I push Dune faster and soon I can make out more of the buildings. I elbow Yllowei Fennen carefully, trying not to knock her unconscious body off of Dune and get an irritated groan in response.

“All that for your horse and I get a jab as thanks,” she grunts, releasing my tunic from her death-grip. “You Thundrians. All the same.”

“Shut up,” I mutter without any real bite behind it. It’s kind of hard not to like the spiteful old hag. She has some fight in her despite her age. I wish some of the ladies of Thundria had a bit of that fighting instinct.

“I’ve been meaning to ask—” she begins, “—why does everyone seem to think you’re a boy?”

She sounds genuinely curious, but I don’t buy for a second that she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing. I clear my throat and play dumb. “Because I am one.”

“Mhmm.”

I ignore her the rest of the way to Vide.

_If she can tell, who else can? Ravne looked surprised when I told him the truth, right? They’re not just all humouring me?_ I swallow hard. _No. Even if I do look like a girl now, the court is blind to it. It’s just because Lady Fennen didn’t grow up around me._

As we ride into the town, Yllowei tugs my shirt until I stop Dune and let her dismount. I bring Dune over to the piss-poor fountain in the middle of the town square and dismount as well. I glance at Yllowei, who has her back to me, confused as to how exactly she plans on locating the ex-elders of the court.

“Fire!” she shrieks.

_Dear Starlaxi._ I cringe as she continues to yell “Fire! There’s a fire!”

I slip into the fifth-dimension, hoping that if I can pick up the trace of particularly strong court life-force, we can avoid being fined within an inch of our life. _Oh, blessed Starlaxi!_ There’s a lot of life-force. An uncomfortable amount.

_Oh, wait._

Because Vide is located near the solstice pavilion. _Duh._ Shit, I guess that’s not a viable option then. Sighing heavily, I run up beside Yllowei and cup my hands around my mouth. “Fire!”

People begin to stream out of the picturesque village houses, confused and harried.

“Where’s the fire?” a thin, haggard old man demands, hobbling towards us.

“Aish!”

“Yllowei?” he croaks, stumbling backwards. “ _C’est vraiment toi?_ ”

She grabs his arm where a nasty purple bruise has swollen and looks at him. I watch in utter amazement as the bruise vanishes and a moment later, Yllowei rubs her arm with a pained grunt. _I was right. She can do more than just energy. Must’ve been a phenomenal healer._

“Welcome back,” he rasps, wrapping her in a bony hug. “Dawhnnea and Nait will be thrilled.”

Yllowei grins, a horribly toothy thing that doesn’t look pleased in the slightest, but claps him on the back. “Then we’re sure to win. We’re rising against Braukkin with Thundria’s help.”

Aish looks amused. “So that’s where you’ve been. But a couple of Thundrian knights aren’t going to do much in the face of Braukkiniaum’s inner circle.”

The crowd of townspeople is muttering amongst themselves. Most people have begun going back indoors after no fire has produced itself. I see some villager kids staring at us, wide-eyed. I wave to them.

From the crowd, a figure breaks away and makes her way over to us.

“Dawhnnea Clouhd,” Yllowei grunts in greeting, bypassing the tiny woman’s handshake and giving her what seems to be a bone-crushing hug by the wheeze of the other woman.

“Thought the next time I’d see you would be in the Starlaxi,” she rasps, brushing her graying hair back and straightening her clothes. “What brings you to Vide?”

“Yllowei!”

The ex-healer is suddenly almost tackled by a thin black-haired man. “Thought you were dead! Should’ve known you wouldn’t go out so easy.”

_Is that an elder?_ I squint at him. He doesn’t look more than forty. _Or is he just one of the townspeople? But then how would they know each other?_

“Sir Pault,” Yllowei rumbles, her voice warmer than I think I’ve ever heard it.

“Well, this is a very happy reunion,” I break in. “But there’s a murderer currently in control of this kingdom and we should probably do something about it.”

“Who’s she?” Dawhnnea mutters to Yllowei and I curl my fists. _Nope, it would appear I don’t pass after all. I knew I shouldn’t have put off new bindings._

“He,” Yllowei corrects with a little smile. “A squire from Thundria. It was his idea to come to find you and recruit you.”

Dawhnnea’s cheek twitches. “Then I suppose it’s him that I’ll tell, no way.”

“What? Why not?” I snap. “Don’t you want your kingdom back?”

Nait and Yllowei exchange glances, which only further irritates me. “Look, right now, Shodawa is the lowest scum in the kingdoms. Do you care at all?” I demand.

Dawhnnea folds her arms. “What are we supposed to do? Throw ourselves at Braukkin and hope he has mercy?”  
I fight the urge to slap my own forehead. “Fucking kill him!”

Nait Pault laughs outright.

“Yes, hilarious that you’re traitors to your own kingdom,” I hiss, unable to restrain myself. _What are they doing? I thought Yllowei said they’d be on board! We need them! Do we? Is it worth it? Should I just take Dune straight back to the meeting point?_

“We want to save our kingdom, but we also want to live,” Aish finally tells me.

I can’t help my anger. “Excuse me? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that the knight’s code says you must protect your kingdom, even at the cost of your life?!”

Nait huffs, but Aish and Dawhnnea are silent. I have to hope that I’m getting through to them. _They can’t give up on their own kingdom! Not now! Not like this! If they won’t fight for it, then what is the point of Thundria’s help in the first place?_

“Don’t let Shodawa die like this,” I plead.

But they seem unmoved. It’s Yllowei who breaks the silence.

“When the King of the Night was our leader, Shodawa would never have sunk so low. When _Raggidier_ was king, we were feared for our strength, not our bloodlust. What have we become? A nursery tale? A tragedy? I will not let my kingdom die this way.”

I stare, shocked, at Yllowei. I didn’t expect her to actually come to my defense. I guess I still figured she’d just be dismissive and make some comment about Shodawa being beyond saving and wring her wrinkly hands. I’m caught off guard by the casual way she refers to a past king of Shodawa rather than using his epithet.

“Shame on you, Aish, for your apathy. Shame on you, Dawhnnea for knowing your sons are in the grasp of that tyrant and giving up anyway. Shame on you, Nait, for forgetting that Shodawa is and always has been worth dying for,” Yllowei growls, her eyes flashing and daring them to disagree.

All three of them cringe away slightly but in the ensuing silence, I see acceptance flickering in their gazes.

“Then let’s fight,” Nait says first. “This may be our last chance. And Yllowei is right. I never should have lost sight of it. We cannot let ourselves become comfortable when our court is in danger.”

“My sons are not beyond saving,” Dawhnnea mutters. “They are not to be grieved for, I have to fight for them.”

Aish sighs.

“Let’s get this over with, then.”

…

Luckily, the townspeople seem to agree that it’s past time someone did something about the tyrant King and they lend the elders their horses. Even Yllowei gets a mount— _Thank the Starlaxi, I really don’t need her grumbling in my ear_ , I think, shooting a grateful look at the villager who brought it _—_ and we set off before the sun is high in the sky.

Aish, Nait, and Dawhnnea don’t seem like they’re interested in making conversation, so I concentrate on the Trace instead. I can feel their life-force. They all have the distinct feeling of ancient power, like centuries-old trees that have weathered storms beyond imagination and come out still fighting.

Aish has some strength left, but it’s nothing compared to Nait and Dawhnnea. Nait’s is harsh and sour like the taste of black coffee mixed with my mouth in the morning—something I’m plenty familiar with—and Dawhnnea’s is sweet and pungent like the air before a storm. I can only guess at their life-force types; the pillars of the four kingdoms are still drowning out everything else. _Night and Dawn. Ash is pretty cut and dry; he almost certainly as ash life-force. But night and dawn… Darkness and light? Time? Seasons? The sun?_ It’s anyone’s guess. We’re still too close to the pillars of the four kingdoms for me to be able to make out much about their traces beyond the general feel, but I think Dawhnnea’s either a summoner or an elementalist, and Nait is the strongest alchemist I’ve ever seen. What feature of the world he has control over, I couldn’t guess.

I’m trying to work up the courage to ask when suddenly familiar Thundrian voices echo from up ahead. My Shodawes companions snap to attention but before they can attack our allies, I ride ahead and call out, “Graie! Fiyr!”

The whole patrol, consisting of Sir Strommer, Sir Styrp, Lady Fyrra, Sir Wynnd, and Lady Peilte, turn at the sound of my voice. _No Sir Cawle, thank the Starlaxi_ , I think.

“Yllowei Fennen.” Based on the unsurprised tone of Sir Strommer’s voice, I assume that Fiyr and Graie succeeded in convincing them that Yllowei is innocent. “And I see you’ve brought along… some elders.”

Nait huffs something that sounds like _Thundrian pricks_ , and Sir Strommer laughs. “Well, any knight that will join our noble crusade is a friend of mine.”

 _Why does he sound like he just stepped out of a history textbook?_ I wonder, cringing a little as the Shodawes elders exchange amused looks.

“Alright, listen up!” Yllowei snaps.

None of the Thundrian knights seem at all surprised that she’s taking control.

“Braukkin’s inner guard is our priority,” she announces. “If the other knights think we have a chance against him, they won’t fight for him. Very few want him in charge; they’re just too cowardly to do anything about it. That will change today.”

The knights nod, exchanging glances, and my gaze finds Graie and Fiyr’s in the crowd. They both look nervous. I smile confidently. _This is nothing new. It has to be done. They have been leeches on the kingdom of Shodawa and it is time we stamp them out._

“There’s Blayke Fouhte. He has oxygen life-force; move fast or you’re not going to be able to breathe for long. I suggest you fight him in waves. Don’t get near him for too long or you won’t be alive to regret it,” Yllowei growls. “Next, Clehw Fiace. Stoat summoner.”

I see Fiyr’s grip tighten on Rusty as Yllowei tells us about the stoat summoner. _He was the one that killed Spottalia Lief._ She continues to explain the abilities and weaknesses and I try to absorb it all, locking it into my memory. The names and life-forces flash by and I see a similar look of concentration on the faces of the Thundrian knights.

“And of course, the king himself,” the ex-healer spits. “Blood life-force. You are in acute danger of being _immediately_ dead if you get too close for too long. If you have an open wound, be aware that he may rip blood from your body and move it into his own body. Stay on your guard and don’t stay near enough to him for him to control your blood for long.”

We exchange uneasy looks. Everyone’s heard rumours of King Braukkiniaum’s life-force despite the supposed secrecy of the life-force of monarchs, captains, and court healers.

“How are we supposed to get the children back?” Lady Fyrra cuts in.

“They’ll be heavily guarded,” Dawhnnea Clouhd remarks, her eyes dark and troubled. “Our only hope is a full-frontal attack.”

Mauzian Fyrra nods but doesn’t look pleased.

“I have a plan for getting into the castle,” Yllowei declares. “Aish, Dawhnnea, and Nait; you will take me as a prisoner into the castle and ask to deliver me personally to Braukkin. We can ensure that there are none of his knights hiding up in the battlements or anything of the sort.”

“Lead the way,” Sir Strommer says.

_Here we go._


	25. Chapter 24 - Samn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been like a week with radio silence, I'm so sorry. Fanfiction.net is a pile of garbage though so hopefully I can get more consistent about uploading over here. ALSO! I haven't mentioned it over here; I have a tumblr for the series now! I was thinking about making one for awhile, and I'm almost done book 3 so by all accounts, I'm sticking with this! Toss me a follow over at https://warriors-kingdoms.tumblr.com/ or if you don't have a tumblr, drop by and send me an ask, or just scroll through what I've been chatting about already! Stuff for future series, names, inspiration, bits of lore, etc (plus a poll to decide on Feathertail's name)

Chapter 24 - Samn

The first thing we notice as the battle patrol of Thundria’s best and Shodawa’s oldest arrives on the cliffside overlooking the castle is that it stinks like the Blacklands.

“What _is_ that?” Sir Styrp exclaims, his face twisting in disgust.

“They have no respect for food,” Aish grunts and Dawhnnea nods, looking sickened. “They see preparing it as beneath them. Savages, the lot of them. They hunt their prey down and roast it over open fires and eat when they’re hungry. Because apparently cooking is for women and they’d rather tear a chunk of flesh off a recently dead animal.”

_Sounds about right,_ I think, snorting to myself. _It’s beneath them, so instead they’ll eat like wild animals and not bother trying to avoid poisoning themselves. I guess food poisoning isn’t beneath them._

“Maybe I’ll take Weayt to the bakery in Vide,” Dawhnnea says wistfully. “He’s always liked his pastries. I can’t imagine what life has been like for him…”

Yllowei gives her a surprisingly sympathetic look. “All you stinking of Thundria follow me, we’ll disguise your trace with the _rond de sorcières_ nearby.”

“You want us to roll in an elf ring?” Sir Strommer demands, translating for the less worldly among us.

Yllowei raised an eyebrow that clearly communicated, _Scared?_ and Sir Strommer relents with a sigh. “Very well. Everyone on your guard, though.”

The elders cluster together, murmuring in low tones as Yllowei Fennen leads the Thundrian patrol towards the edge of a ring of pale white, ghostly-looking mushrooms. _Elf rings are circles of white mushrooms that elves use to communicate with each other about mates, territory, and nearby dangers,_ my memory informs me. _Highly dangerous for non-elves. I guess we’ll just have to hope that there aren’t any elves nearby._

The patrol slowly fans out at the edge of the mushrooms and Yllowei is the first to step in. It’s as though the whole forest is holding its breath, but when no immediate danger produces itself, everyone relaxes a little.

“If you see a toad, run. If you hear a voice, run. If you hear music…” she trails off, looking at us sharply. “Any guesses?”  
“Run,” Sir Wynnd volunteers, cracking his knuckles.

“And don’t look back,” Lady Fennen finishes. “On my mark.”

She holds up her hand and we all tense, then she slices it through the air and we all step over the line of the mushroom into the ring and concentrate.

The murky world of the Trace begins to flood the air around me and I breathe deeply, trying to summon all the traces of elves that lingers in the air. I slip into it and nearly have a heart attack when I realize that the traces are quite literally everywhere. I draw them into me, trying to imagine them cloaking me, wrapping me in their sickly sweet taste…

I hear the chime of bells.

Then a voice, airy as the wind through a flute, singing.

_He wha tills the fairies' green_

_Nae luck again shall hae,_

My heart stutters to a stop in my chest and I brace myself. Praying to the Starlaxi that I have enough surrounding me, I break back into the real world and leap out of the ring.

Then again, softer this time, but more light voices joining the first…

_And he wha spills the fairies' ring_

_Betide him want and wae._

I run, straight back to where Aish, Sir Pault, and Lady Clouhd stand, bewildered, and skid to a halt, panting. _Could the rest of them hear it? Are they okay? They aren’t being drawn in by the song, are they? This would make a pretty shitty battle patrol if half of them are getting slaughtered by elves…_

Against my better instinct, I turn and head back toward the ring.

_For weirdless days and weary nights_

_Are his till his deein' day._

The twisted words sing through my ears, taunting me with their creeping melody. I can feel the tug of their song, but I resist. _There they are!_ Only Sir Wynnd is still in the ring and Lady Fyrra is already dragging him out.

_But he wha gaes by the fairy ring,  
Nae dule nor pine shall see,_

Rynnin has a strange, dreamy look on his face, but when Mauzian hauls him over the line of mushrooms, it turns into utter confusion. He looks back at the ring, his mouth moving along with the words in my head.

_And he wha cleans the fairy ring—_

The whole patrol bolts back to the group of Shodawes elders.

_An easy death…_

And we’re out of range. Thank the Starlaxi.

“Next time we’ll just linger by a soulpath,” Sir Strommer says, looking more shaken than I think I’ve ever seen him. “I don’t care how ‘fearless’ you all are, I like my freedom.”

Yllowei gives a hoarse laugh, but she looks a little sobered as well. “Well, that _king_ won’t know what’s coming anymore.”

Sir Strommer doesn’t reply, instead choosing to check on Rynnin Wynnd’s state, who seems fine, if a little disoriented.

Dawhnnea steps forwards and Yllowei gives her a nod. “Time to go. Game faces on.”

The Thundrian patrol huddles in the clearing as the four of them head down into the ditch where the Shodawes castle is located.

We are all still, silent, and waiting.

We wait, that is, until we hear the yells.

_Well, looks like that plan went to shit._

Sir Strommer is the first to move and soon the Thundrian patrol is streaming down toward the castle, swords unsheathed.

“For Thundria!” Sir Strommer roars and someone from within the castle flings the doors open for us.

As we storm the castle, I realize very quickly that only about half of the people in the Shodawes castle are fighting. Plenty of shadowy figures cluster about the hallways and staircases, observing and nothing more. Aish, Dawhnnea, and Nait are in the centre, back to back to back, swiping at any knight that tries to make a move. They’re more or less surrounded by what I’m assuming is King Braukkiniaum’s inner guard.

Two staircases run up from the edges of the room and disappear into shadows far above. The room is poorly lit, with only a few sputtering torches to illuminate the court within. The banners of Shodawa are torn and ragged too, with one missing entirely.

I survey the room, taking in the sight of the elders in their tight group, fending off a crowd. A couple of knights have Yllowei cornered by the throne. I don’t see the king. As Sir Strommer yells out orders I can’t help but fixate on the words of the knights that have their swords pointed at a spitting-mad Yllowei.

“Her life-force could get you killed, be careful.”

“She ain’t allowed to hurt, she’s a healer!”  
“There’s no telling what she’s capable of after what happened to those poor kids.”

The knights of Thundria charge the circle holding the Shodawes elders, but I’m scanning the area for the king. _I need to get in a few strikes personally._

He’s nowhere to be seen though, so I jump into the battle, finding the sting of the sand all over the floors of the castle. _Looks like their slobbishness is about to have some painful payback._ I summon it upwards and into fist-sized balls.

_Aim for the eyes,_ Queen Bluelianna’s voice suggests and as a stringy, vicious looking silver-haired woman charges me, I send one straight into her face.

She reels and flicks her sword upwards, too far to even touch me. _Ha._

I’m eating my snort a moment later when the floor beneath me becomes so slippery that I can’t keep my balance, even though I’m standing still. I stumble away from the smooth patch and drop one of my sand-balls in an effort to make it rough enough to not slide across and catch my footing once more.

I twist around, looking for someone in trouble, but Graie has gone to Yllowei’s aid and the rest of the knights are managing themselves just fine. Dawhnnea and Aish seem to have teamed up and are taking turns slashing at a short, muscled man.

Then I see Fiyr facing off with what looks like a toddler.

“Fiyr! Back down!” I yell, charging towards him. His sword is out, but thankfully he isn’t actually striking her.”That’s a fucking kid!”

“This isn’t your battle!” he snaps at the little girl, who bares her teeth and tries to slash at him with her tiny sword. Fiyr blocks it with ease and flicks the sword away.

She stumbles backward and throws a puff of horrible smelling yellow powder in his face. “Leave her!” I snap, fighting the urge to shove him. “There’s a _real_ fight going on!”

“Watch out!” I hear Dawhnnea’s yell a heartbeat before a dark laugh echoes behind me and I feel my hand suddenly pulse and then my sword is being pointed towards my stomach… by my own hand.

_Oh fuck._ I wrestle back control of my limb and twist the sword away from my own body and whip around to see the twisted grin of King Braukkiniaum Star.

Fiyr _finally_ turns away from the tiny girl to face him as well. “You—You’re a monster,” he spits but the king doesn’t lose his grin.

_Way to state the obvious, buddy,_ I think grimly and before I can think better of it, I charge him.

I can feel my limbs starting to lock up as the king holds up his hand in the universal hand signal for _stop_. My legs rebel and trying to fight it is like trying to walk through waist-deep mud. I send one of his sand-balls into the back of his head anyways.

_I don’t need my legs to use my life-force,_ I think, gritting my teeth.

Sudden pain in my chest makes me gasp for air and the balls of sand plunk to the ground harmlessly. I grab my chest, light sparking behind my eyes as pain rolls over me. _Blessed Starlaxi… my heart…_

Whatever he’s trying to do to me, his concentration is broken a moment later when Fiyr, undaunted, drives his sword into the king of Shodawa’s stomach.

I grimace as the tension eases off my heart, trying not to double over, knowing Fiyr is going to need help in a moment. I glance up to see the king looking vaguely surprised by the sword that is now inside him. _He can feel pain, right?_ Half of what I know about the demon before me is from rumours and gossip. _Is he even human?_

“So, Thundria puts swords in the hands of god-toys and sends them off to battle,” the king growls, dark amusement in his cold eyes.

Then Fiyr and I watch in horror as he grabs the sword by the blade and slides it out of his body. Fiyr stumbles backward, his grip loosening on the now bloody weapon. I have a pretty strong stomach, but even that makes me a little queasy. A dark patch blooms on the leather and cloth the king is garbed in, soaking through the Shodawes emblem.

“You send children out to die!” I snap, pushing aside my revulsion and horror and slash out in an arc toward his side. His sword, flashing in the torchlight, deflects it effortlessly and the _clang_ rings through the hall, mixing with the screams and metallic clashes of swords echoing around the rest of the room.

“Monster!” Fiyr has drawn fire out of a torch and sends it towards King Braukkiniaum, who darts to one side, surprisingly agile despite his large frame, and it explodes on the floor behind him.

The king’s lips peel back in a grin again, revealing cracked teeth that jut up from him gums like broken tombstones. I fight a flinch.

Fiyr suddenly hisses in pain and I watch, eyes wide with fear and at first, incomprehension, as a gash on his shoulder suddenly starts bleeding more, soaking his shirt and dripping off him, then suddenly arcing through the air… into King Braukkiniaum’s stomach wound.

He can do more than just control other people’s limbs, it seems.

I swallow hard, bracing myself to try to strike him again while he concentrates, but Fiyr is paling and stumbling away. _I have to do something about it first._

An idea hits me like a bolt of lightning.

“Trait!” I hiss. “It’s _your_ blood!”  
He looks at me, confusion in his watering eyes, then understanding passes over his face. As the king takes a deep breath, pulling the stolen blood into his stomach, his face suddenly twists with surprise and a moment later, pain.

_Hotter!_ I urge Fiyr silently as his face drains of colour. He squeezes his eyes shut and I see him trembling with the effort.

As King Braukkiniaum glances down in shock at the sizzling wound, now containing boiling blood, and stumbles backward, I leap forward and swing my blade into his side. Fiyr has distracted him enough that I get a good hit on his side, but most of the blow is taken by his armor.

Growling with frustration, I strike harder. Bolt finds flesh and the king swings his sword into mine and rips it free of his side. We face off, his sword pointing at my chest, mine trying not to tremble too much in my shaking hands, and Fiyr stumbles aside, clutching his shoulder.

_I can’t beat him,_ I realize just as a pale flash appears behind him at an incomprehensible speed. _Sir Wynnd!_

A heartbeat later, the king’s sword slides out of his hand. He grabs for it as it falls to the ground, but his hand can’t seem to close around the hilt.

I recoil as it drops to the floor, confused, when I see Lady Peilte with her sword _Willowpelt_ outstretched behind him. The king turns just as Rynnin Wynnd’s foot flashes out like striking lightning and slams into his chest.

The king staggers backward, but I have no time to the two of them take him on because Fiyr needs help—he’s fallen to one knee, panting. _That shoulder must be worse than it looks…_

I help him away from the fray, him almost falling sideways, and his back falls against the wall. I was right; he looks pretty rough. His hand cups his shoulder, but I can already see it streaked with blood.

“Are you alright?” I demand and realize instantly that may have been the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. “I mean… here.”

I flip open the cover on a pouch at my side and pull out bandages I’ve started keeping on my person at all times ever since my cycles started and secure them on his shoulder. “I’m no Spottalia, but you won’t bleed out at least,” I grunt.

He winces. “I’m sure it wasn’t bad enough for me to bleed out.”

Ignoring him, I turn back to the battle to see Dawhnnea facing Blayke in the middle of the room, her cheeks tear streaked and her eyes wide.

“They were weak,” Sir Fouhte sneers and the woman staggers back, her sword not even drawn, trembling. He raises his sword.

_He’s going to kill her!_ I realize in a flash of horror. _No!_

“Weayte, Broewen,” she mumbles. “Weayte, Broewen, you… you let them die… you sent them out… you did this…”

He flashes a harsh grin, pulling _Blackfoot_ back further and preparing to slash it across her neck, then the grin fades as we all hear the rumbling.

I glance up, unnerved by the thrumming on the edge of my hearing. _What is that?!_

And then I hear the wind howling.

_Not season or time or light life-force at all_.

_Weather control._

And the roof explodes.

“Weayte and Broewen! Did you hold vigil? Did you bury them?” she screams, unsheathing her sword and pointing it at him. “Did you even bother? Did they mean _nothing_ to you? My sons!”

The rumbling and howling are louder, closer, and I can’t help but watch dumbfounded as rain pours into the castle in heavy sheets, then as a gust of wind throws the doors of the castle open and rushes through the centre of the room, cutting down everyone in its path, and splitting when it reaches Dawhnnea to rush around her, leaving her unharmed.

It carries Blayke Fouhte off his feet and flings him back into the stone wall, where he collides with it with a sickening _crack_ and slumps to the floor.

I can’t find pity to feel.

“Come on,” I snap to Fiyr, who’s nursing his shoulder wound with a pout. “There’s still so much to do.”

I search the room for any member of Braukkiniaum’s inner guard to attack when my eyes lock onto a particular knight.

_Sir Fiace. If he even deserves the title of Sir._

“Fiyr,” I breathe. “It was him.”

He doesn’t even need me to point. Regardless of his shoulder, he draws Rusty, fire beginning to simmer in his eyes. Dawhnnea’s storm put out the torches, but I don’t doubt that he can do damage without his life-force.

He and Sir Styrp circle each other, though neither is making a move. Clehw hasn’t even summoned a stoat.

I turn to Fiyr, about to suggest that we flank him and then double-team him, but…

“You killed her, you _monster_!” he shrieks, charging.

_Oh, great._

Sir Fiace turns, surprise evident on his face, in time to cross swords with Fiyr. Darriek darts away to find another knight to fight.

“I didn’t _kill_ her, she killed herself.” He has a soft voice, but the sneer in it is evident.

“What are you talking about?!” Fiyr demands, slashing at him like a man possessed. “We found your life-force! You poisoned her!”

“With poppy seeds. You Thundrian idiots didn’t even find the real cause of death?”

It comes to me with sickening clarity and a cry escapes me. _Herb amplifying life-force. She could increase the potency of herbs._ It’s all too easy to imagine her putting a tiny shred of thyme in her tea or something and making its potency tenfold the normal to calm herself, not knowing about the sleeping draught in there. _She’ll sleep… forever._

He didn’t kill her, she didn’t even really kill herself… It was just a horrible accident. And I know instantly that if Fiyr knew that, it would destroy him. He needs vengeance, he needs someone to blame.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out… _He didn’t mean to kill her at all. But I don’t doubt that he doesn’t regret it._

But Sir Fiace suddenly looks away from Fiyr, over his shoulder and towards… I follow his gaze and gasp. _No!_

The king has Yllowei Fennen cornered and has his sword drawn and ready.

I see Fiyr lower his sword, his mouth dropping open in horror as King Braukkiniaum advances on her.

_She may have been from Shodawa, but she’s one of us now! We can’t let her—_

The king plunges his sword through her chest.

I hear Fiyr scream.

I think I scream.

_We need her! She can’t die now!_

“Hmph. You die even easier than Raggidier did,” King Braukkiniaum rumbles, laughing at the stricken look on her face as she slides down the wall, gasping with a horrible wet, choking sound.

“It… You…? Why…”

“He was weak. He deserved to die,” he hisses, leaning forwards and driving his sword further into her. “Just the same way you do.”

“Did… Braighttia Fluwr’s children… deserve to die…?” she chokes, the trembling effort behind each word showing how hard it is to force out the question.

“If it hadn’t been me it would’ve been another knight,” he says contemptuously. “Goodbye.”

Yllowei’s eyes flutter shut and she drops to the floor.

_No…_

I can hear my heart in my ears. “No!”

“Yllowei!” It’s Sir Pault, his pained yell echoing through the throne room. I’m not in the Trace, but the life-force is so strong I can sense it without even… _Alchemy. The feature of the world he has control over is… I thought there weren’t any strong enough…_

_He’s a time alchemist?_

Then bitterness fills my mouth and then everything darkens.

…

_Crack._

Blayke Fouhte hits the stone wall of the castle with a sickening sound and slumps to the floor.

“Come on,” I snap to Fiyr, who’s nursing his shoulder wound with a pout. “There’s still so much to do.”

I search the room for any member of Braukkiniaum’s inner guard to attack when I spot Yllowei, slashing her sword at anyone who gets to close, and the king creeping up behind her.

“Yllowei is in danger!” I spit. “Flank him.”

Fiyr nods shakily and unsheathes Rusty. We charge the king on either side and he doesn’t get a chance to force Yllowei into a corner as we point our swords at him.

“Haven’t you learned your lesson?!” he growls, spinning around to face us. “Your puny hearts will explode!”

And sure enough, a familiar pressure begins in my chest, but it suddenly subsides as his concentration is broken once more. Yllowei has retaliated.

The king spins to see the old woman thrust her sword toward the wound in his stomach from earlier. He leaps back and is tackled by Sir Pault. Yllowei flings herself at the pair of them, her sword still out and flashing.

But my attention is taken by the knight circling Sir Styrp, his true-steel sword drawn and his lips drawn back in a sneer.

“Fiyr!”

I don’t need to tell him; his attention is already focused on Sir Fiace.

“You killed her!” Fiyr shouts, his voice raw. “You killed Spottalia!”

The small man turns with a sneering grin and opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t get a chance. Fiyr charges him and swings his sword with both hands, slashing for his head. _He’s going to kill him…_ I realize with a jolt. _Knights don’t kill… but then again, Clehw did. He killed Spottalia. And maybe she was annoying or had her priorities mixed up or whatever, but she didn’t need to die._

Clehw knocks the blow aside and thrusts his sword forward. His eyes go beady black, glittering and his hair spreads down his back. His fingers flex into claws and knife-sharp fangs burst out of his mouth.

I run at his other side, trying to draw his attention away from Fiyr, who is panting and winding up for another swing at his head.

“Hey, piece of shit!” I scream in his face. “Over here!”

Sir Fiace whirls around, those tiny black eyes fixing themselves on me, and raises a clawed hand.  
The next thing I feel is hot pain in my stomach. A cry tears free of my throat and I double over, clutching my belly. He tore straight through the thunder emblem. My hands come away bloody and there are spots dancing around the throne room. _I wonder whose life-force that is…_

I land on my back. _Ow. Shit._

The world is spinning overhead. It’s loud. How did I not hear how loud it was before?

I breathe out slowly, finding the Trace around me. I squint at the room, or what I can see of it. A hulking furry creature stands, his back to me, crouched and ready to pounce. My head is so light. I feel like I’m floating away.

Sir Nait Pault is crouching next to me, but he’s different. I can’t sense his life-force. It’s… so faint… he was so powerful before, where did it go? Why is he spinning…?

I can taste iron and cinnamon.

_Fiyr… don’t…_

But my voice is too quiet and my eyes are closed.

I can hear him screaming.

Then the world rocks with a blazing hot shockwave and I’m flung through the air.

I don’t even feel myself hit the ground.

I don’t feel anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder to go check out https://warriors-kingdoms.tumblr.com/ ! Next chapter is the last one of Into the Fire and I hope to post it on time.


	26. Chapter 25 - Fiyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this til the end! I'm sorry for the spotty update schedule, again, but hopefully I can settle more into the site as the series continues. Here is the last chapter of Into the Fire, the wrap up. I'll detail the future of the series in the end notes.

Chapter 25 - Fiyr

When I wake up, I’m being shaken by Graie.

“Fiyr! Fiyr! Oh, thank the Starlaxi!” he gasps, his breath shallow and quick. “I thought you were dead! We saw you explode, and then you fell, and they—you—I thought you were dead!”

“I exploded?” I croak. Feels like there’s a blazing horseshoe wrapped around my head. The world sparks. “What?”

“We chased them out. They’re gone.” Graie helps me up, though I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stand without his help for a little while. There’s a strange buzz in my blood. Something happened… and I can’t remember what. But it’s all starting to come back when I see Samn’s slumped body.

“Samn!”

Out of pure instinct, I bound toward him, my energy restored, and grab the front of his shirt to try to pull him off the floor. He’s flat on his back, but I have to assume he was thrown because why would he lie down with his arm twisted like that?! Why is his arm twisted like that?!

“Samn?”

A pulse—thank the fucking Starlaxi—stars above if he was dead, if he was dead—

“Fiyr! Take a deep breath!” Graie shouts at me.

I glance down and see that my hand has started to burn through the front of his tunic. _Oh, shit._ “S—sorry, sorry, I’m just a little—”

A steadying hand lands on my shoulder. “He’ll be alright once we get him back to the castle,” Sir Strommer murmurs. “How did this happen?”

“Let’s get back to the castle,” I whisper instead of replying. _It was me_ — _it was me_ — _I almost killed him_ — _oh dear blessed Starlaxi, what kind of monster—_

“Fiyr!”

“Sorry!”

“Knights of Thundria,” Sir Pault, one of the Shodawes elders—though he’s not even that old... Why was he with the elders? I’ll ask Yllowei—calls out to us. “Your land will be safe from Shodawa. We will not continue down this path; Braukkin has been driven out and we will find a new king. In the meantime, we must humbly thank you for your kindness.”

“A year’s truce,” Sir Strommer replies, standing and shaking his hand. “We will not strike while you rebuild. Our fight is with Ki—er, Braukkin. I wish you luck with your kingdom.”

I ignore them as they exchange perfunctory words and turn back to Samn’s body. _He’s alive, but I… I could have killed him. I almost did. I lost control and almost_ killed _him?!_ The memory of Clehw Fiace turning into a hulking beast and slashing his claw through Samn’s stomach… and then everything went red and I remember an explosion. _It was me, then? I exploded?_

Yllowei Fennen crouches beside me. “Hm.”

“There’s no one to heal him,” I realize out loud. “Because Spottalia is dead and you’re going to go back to Shodawa…”

“Am I...” she mutters dryly. “You’ve decided that, have you?”

“Aren’t you?” I twist to stare at her. “Can you help him while we’re here, at least?”

Yllowei purses her lips and frowns at me. “Why do squires try to decide things for other people and then complain about knights doing the same to them?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m coming back to Thundria and serving as court healer,” she explains, grunting as she shifts into a more comfortable sitting position. “I won’t leave you like newborns in the cold; you’ll need _someone_ to fix your wretched kingdom.”

“ _Our_ wretched kingdom?” I echo, outraged.

“Is that Old Thundrian for ‘Thank you Yllowei Fennen, most kind saviour of our undeserving and low souls’?” she asks cuttingly.

I sigh. Why did Spottalia have to die? At least Clehw Fiace almost certainly died in the explosion. _She can rest in the Starlaxi easy now. He’s gone._

“I found the kids!” It’s Sir Wynnd.

I realize with an embarrassed flush that I had almost forgotten about the real reason we’d come to the Shodawes castle in the first place. _Although… why didn’t any kingdom get a battle patrol together to try to drive out Braukkiniaum in the first place? I don’t think any of ours even died… Injuries. Some bad injuries. But no deaths._ Maybe the fight isn’t as difficult as the choice to fight.

“They’re all fine! Er, I think Cindra has a scratch.” Rynnin again, hurrying down the stairs with a toddler cradled in each arm and two kids trailing behind him, surveying the castle with wide eyes. “Let’s get them back to Thundria. Hey, Sir Pault, do you have any spare horses?”

“Let me take a look at the scratch,” Yllowei rumbles, hobbling toward the little girl, who recoils with a horrified look on her face. “I’m not going to eat you, child, you Thundrians are probably all tough and scrawny. Here. I brought bandages.”

The girl, Cindra, scowls impressively as Yllowei tends to the gash on the side of her face.

I’m preoccupied with hovering over Samn’s body like an owl, staring at him uselessly while blood trickles out of his mouth slowly. It isn’t until later when Sir Strommer pulls me away and tells me to go fetch Dune and Blitz that I feel the tears on my cheeks. _I could have killed him so damn easily._

But I leave his side and walk through the darkening forest with a heavy heart.

When I get back to the ridge where we left Blitz and Dune, I can’t help waiting there for a moment, staring at the castle, framed by the setting sun. _It’s over._ As I take their reins and head back toward the castle, I have to wonder why I’m suddenly so preoccupied with Samn. _I would have been just as upset if Graie was seriously hurt. Besides, I didn’t almost kill Graie. Samn has been a complete dick, but he wants what’s best for the court and I respect that, at least. Even if he seems to think that means trying to drive me away because I was raised as a servant to the gods and thinking up elaborate conspiracy theories about Tigre Cawle wanting to destroy the court or something._

Then again… I swallow hard. It’s starting to become uncomfortably possible. After all, like Ravne said, what reason does he have to lie? If he _was_ telling the truth and Tigre Cawle actually _did_ want to kill him… then… all his anxiety would make sense. Sir Cawle’s insinuations about it not being a good idea to trust Ravne would make sense…

I hurry back into the castle. “I have the horses!”

“Then let’s ride back to Thundria.” Sir Strommer waves over everyone from Thundria.

“Hang on, brilliant sir,” Yllowei interjects dryly. “You intend to transport the children how exactly?”

Sir Strommer pauses and acknowledges that it might not be possible to ride a horse while holding a toddler. Reluctantly, he sighs and turns back to Sir Pault. “Would you happen to have a wagon of any sort that we might borrow?”

Nait’s mouth quirks in a half-grin. “Yes, we get deliveries straight from some of our towns. We needn’t send out patrols every couple days like _some_ … Ah, I suppose I should hold off on snide remarks until we don’t live in a shit hole that a tyrant used to own.”

Sir Strommer laughs and runs a hand through his white hair. “Perhaps.”

As Sir Pault and Sir Strommer head off to find this wagon, I can’t help hurrying back over to Samn’s body. Graie is kneeling beside him as well.

“He’s not going to be in any condition to ride any time soon,” Graie says. “Um… but I’m sure he’ll heal just fine.”

I clutch my hand, squeezing my eyes shut. “How… how did it happen…? Sir Fiace attacked him and then I just…”

“You reacted,” Graie says, surprisingly soothingly and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t take blame for something you didn’t decide to do.”

_There must have been a way I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve saved him… somehow. Surely._ I can’t believe that it was unavoidable. I can’t. Because that means I might do it again and there’s nothing I can do. _There_ is _a way to control it. There has to be._

I already knew there was something wrong with my life-force; I didn’t demonstrate, the gods supposedly clipped my spirit to stop my life-force from manifesting but it did anyway, and now I _exploded?_ What is wrong with me?

What I _do_ know is that if I had killed Samn… things would never be the same.

Death has a funny way of making you realize when you need someone and I can’t help counting myself lucky that it didn’t come to that. _As long as he’s going to be okay._

“Sounds like they’ve got the wagon,” Graie comments, breaking me out of my thoughts. “You grab his shoulders, I’ll take his legs.”

“That’s a terrible idea, do you _want_ to rip him apart?” I snort, trying to avoid trembling like a leaf in the wind. _I’m fine, look how fine I am! Absolutely fine!_

“Well, what do you suggest?” Graie retorts, his hands going to his hips defensively. “Carrying him over your shoulder?”

I roll my eyes and kneel by Samn, hooking one arm under his knees and the other under his back and curling to hold his arm. “Like this.”

My demonstration is somewhat undercut by the fact that in spite of my recent growth spurt, Samn and I are still around the same size and I don’t know if I can pick him up. I make a valiant effort all the same.

I can get to my feet, but I’m already sagging with the burden of his weight.

“Alright, wise guy,” Graie concedes, observing me cripple with amusement. “You bring him to the doors and I’ll take him across the pavilion.”

I wheeze something that sounds enough like agreement for Graie to walk over to the doors and turn back to me with a smirk.

Staggering, one foot at a time, I make my way toward him, trying to gasp for air without sounding like a dying fish. At least my grip isn’t slipping on his unconscious body. I would’ve assumed he’d be really unwieldy to carry, but he’s curled up a bit and fits on my chest. If I didn’t have to walk, it would be comfortable. _To have Samn curled up in my arms? What am I talking about? No. I want to put him down._ I transfer him to Graie.

As we walk, me with ease, Graie with melodramatic wheezing, I try not to flush. _Okay, look,_ I argue with myself, _just ‘cause I don’t want the guy dead doesn’t mean I suddenly want to Unite with him or something. Besides, us as a couple? We’d probably blow up the world. Well, I’m doing a good job of that on my own, I guess…_ The reminder makes me wince.

And then there’s the Tigre thing. We’re really going to need to have a talk. Preferably when he’s not in a cot in the healer’s wing and once I’ve straightened out my… issues.

Glaring at him like it’s his fault that my brain has decided that there’s nothing more attractive than a guy who positively hates my guts and is prejudiced against me for something I can’t control, I have to admit that he’s good-looking. _But that’s irrelevant. Sir Strommer is good-looking. Goldanna Flourer is good-looking. Ravne was good-looking. Well,_ is _. But the important thing is that I’m not such a love-sick kid that a pretty face has me throwing all logic out the window._

I sigh. _And that logic being, I’m an ex-god-toy, I have respect for Sir Cawle, and I have so many freckles that I look like I have a rare and incurable disease. So there’s no use dwelling on it if I’m just going to end up rejected. It’ll save me a lot of embarrassment if I can just forget about it._

I push it all out of my mind as Graie carefully deposits him into the wagon next to Cindra and who I assume is her brother, a little boy with earnest brown eyes and fluffy golden brown hair. The wagon has wooden containers built into the sides of it that are good sizes for babies when they’re filled with hay like they are now; Sir Strommer’s handiwork, I assume.

We mount our horses and bid farewell to the knights of Shodawa. Despite my original bad impression of the kingdom, I have to admit that I’m hopeful for their future after Yllowei Fennen told me of their past.

_They will return to their glory now that the king has been driven out,_ I think. _They will. Recovery is possible. It has to be._

Yllowei mounts Dune behind Blitz and I and I turn to give her a grin. She returns it with a dry smile. _Yeah. I think Thundria will be just fine._

…

“My children!” Frostialla Fuor shrieks, hurling herself to the entrance of the castle before the battle patrol can even get in. Cindra and her brother are crushed in a hug by their mother. “Cindra! Your face, what happened?! You two are so brave, so so brave, I’m so thankful…”

She continues to babble, not releasing the children from the hug, but I don’t doubt that this is the most favourable outcome. I saw what Dawhnnea did when she found out about her sons.

“Sir Whit Strommer, are the other children alright?” Queen Bluelianna asks, coming to the doors of the castle as well and gently guiding Frostialla aside so that we can get in.

“They were unharmed, thanks to the bravery of the knights of the Thundrian and Shodawes courts,” he informs her, pride clear in his voice.

“And Shodawes,” she echoes. “My. You _do_ have a story to tell. Well, the worst injured among you, go to the healer’s wing at once. I’ll hold a court meeting as soon as everyone’s taken care of by… Oh yes. That’s right, we don’t…”

“I believe I may be able to help with that,” Yllowei rasps.

The old woman hobbles the front of the rest of the patrol and the queen grins wryly, comprehension flashing in her blue eyes. “Ah. I believe you may indeed.”

With that, Yllowei heads to the healer’s wing, then pauses and turns. “You and you, bring the g—the boy that got injured. Samn.”

She pointed at Sir Wynnd and Graie, so I fight the instinct to insert myself into their job and instead hurry across the throne room to seek out… _Ravne’s gone. Right._ I catch myself, standing awkwardly, and then I feel a tug on my tunic.

“You blew up the bad guys,” Cindra says thoughtfully, giving me a little pat on the hip like I’m a dog that successfully performed a trick. “That was good. Brakken was really scared but I wasn’t. I’m not scared of anything!”

I fight a laugh and give her an equally awkward pat on the head. “I’m sure.”

“You’re _really_ strong, right?” she demands. It’s almost an accusation and this time I _do_ laugh.

“Um, I guess…?” I suppose the explosion was an incredible display of life-force. But what’s that worth when I injured foe and friend alike?

“Then I should be your squire!”

I squint at her. “Erm, _I’m_ a squire.”

She _pfffft_ s scornfully. “So what? You’ll be a knight soon, right? I heard Mum say that Queen Bluelianna was going to make you and Graie knights if you could find that scary lady and bring her back. And you did. So she will. Mum says the queen never breaks a promise.”

“She said that, eh?” I feel a little thrill of excitement run down my back. “Then we’ll see, I guess. How old are you?”

“Eleven and three-quarters!” she declares proudly. “I’m a grandmother, compared to the little _babies_ that Brindellia Faise has now!”

She says ‘babies’ so scornfully that I can’t help but wonder if she knows that she was once also a baby. _Well… she’ll figure it out, I’m sure._

“Well, it’ll be soon I guess,” I say, running a hand through my hair. _Training a squire? Already? I still feel like a kid… I mean, I still_ am _a kid. But I’ll be a knight soon, apparently._

Though nothing seems like it will be happening today. Whit Strommer and Queen Bluelianna disappeared into her private chambers so the former could relate the events of the battle to the latter and everyone else has dispersed to the healer’s wing or their rooms. Graie and Sir Wynnd seem to have had no trouble transporting Samn’s body to the healer’s wing, so I bid farewell to Cindra and head to the squire’s wing.

_I’ll visit him when he wakes up,_ I tell myself firmly. _I should sleep. Regenerate life-force and heal and all that._ My shoulder pulses, reminding me that I need to get it checked by Yllowei, but even if it was hanging on by a single vein, I’d still be going to bed. I’m exhausted.

I strip off my dirty, bloodied tunic and pray that I won’t have laundry duty in the next couple days. Even my underclothes are streaked with grime and sweat, but I’m too tired to care.

…

When I wake up, the sun has set and the queen is calling a meeting.

_Will my sleeping cycle ever go back to normal?_

As I’m changing, I suddenly remember Cindra informing me that Frostialla overheard that the queen intended to make Graie and I knights for successfully bringing back Yllowei. I suppose I knew it was an eventuality, but still, it’s taken me by surprise.

_I’ll have my knight name, my true-steel sword, my life-force ring… and if Cindra’s wish is granted, a squire too, soon enough._

It’s enough to make my head reel.

I quickly put on my uniform, brushing the nonexistent dust off the shoulders in the mirror proudly. _A knight._ Sir _Fiyr._

I hurry into the throne room, meeting Graie on my way out of the wing. He’s wearing an identical nervous grin and I know that he knows exactly what’s going to happen tonight.

When I reach the room, the whole court assembled, my eyes unconsciously seek out a pair of olive ones in the crowd. A chair has been brought out for Samn; he’s awake!

I try to walk over casually, fighting the urge to dash over to him and make sure he’s actually awake and okay. _Oh, whatever. So what if he wouldn’t give me a second glance? I can still like him and be friendly._

“Sorry about almost blowing you up…” I tell him.

He looks much better than I feared he would. One arm’s in a cast and there are some patches on his face that are bandaged, but overall, no serious injury.

“Happens to the best of us,” he replies. _Hang on, is he teasing me? What?_

“Heh,” I say intelligently. “Yeah…”

_Smooth. So smooth._

Thankfully, I’m saved from making it worse when Queen Bluelianna raps her sceptre on the ground, calling our attention to where she stands on the dais. She wears a ceremonial dress today.

“Thanks to the bravery of the Thundrian knights and squires Sir Whit Strommer, Sir Darriek Styrp, Lady Willowamina Peilte, Lady Mauzian Fyrra, Sir Rynnin Wynnd, Samn, Fiyr, Graie, and Ravne, King Braukkiniaum Star has been driven out of the Shodawes castle,” the queen announces proudly. Cheers erupt from the court.

“And yet, where _is_ Ravne?” Tigre Cawle interjects, raising a bushy eyebrow. “Strange that he would disappear at the same time as the Shodawes king…”

“We split up to look for Yllowei and when we regrouped he was gone. We found his body too late to help him!” Samn yells from right beside me. “He died for his kingdom!”

I can’t help a stab of discomfort. _Sir Cawle jumped on the chance to cast suspicion on Ravne… but could he really…?_

Sir Cawle’s eyes flicker with surprise, but he quickly dips his head. “A tragedy.”

“We will mourn him,” Queen Bluelianna interrupts. Her reaction makes me think Samn already told her that story. “He will be remembered as a hero. Yllowei Fennen has been brought back to the kingdom and intends to serve as our healer now that Spottalia Lief has joined the Starlaxi.”

“What?! But she conspired with the stoat summoner to kill Spottalia and steal the kits!” Liang shouted. “Spottalia Lief was _poisoned_! Who would have knowledge of the poisons other than an ex-court healer?”

The queen’s expression flickers with anger, but she holds a gloved hand up for peace and Sir Teyl falls silent.

“Yllowei reportedly fought on the side of the Thundrian knights and was a great asset to the success,” the queen explains firmly. “She conspired with no one.”

Sir Cawle doesn’t look happy. I shift uneasily and avoid Samn’s pointed look.

“Is Braukkin dead?” Frostialla cuts in. “Are our children safe?”

“He is on the run,” Sir Strommer reassures her. “We have promised Shodawa a year’s truce to let them rebuild.”

The queen gives him a nod. “Then we will keep watch for Braukkin. Thundria thanks Yllowei Fennen for serving as healer. There is one more ritual to perform.”

_Here it comes,_ I think nervously, suddenly feeling my palms get sweaty and wipe them on my pants. _I’m going to be a knight…_

“Sir Strommer, did Graie and Fiyr defend Thundria well in the battle against Braukkin’s tyranny?” she asks.

The knight dips his head. “They did.”

“Lady Fyrra, Sir Cawle, have Graie and Fiyr successfully completed all the training they will require as full knights of Thundria?” she continues and I watch, holding my breath, as her sceptre begins to glow softly.

“He has,” Mauzian replies and Tigre nods silently.

“Then Graie, Fiyr, do you promise to live by the knight’s code and protect and defend the great kingdom of Thundria, to defend and lay down your life for the court, until your final breath?” she asks us, beckoning us forward.

I make my way to the dais in front of her nervously and kneel in front of her, copying Graie.

“I do,” I breathe and Graie repeats the same.

“Then I, Queen Bluelianna Star, ruler of the kingdom of Thundria, by the powers of the Starlaxi, give you your full knight names. Fiyr, for your strength and bravery, I name you for ‘heart’. Graie, for your quick-thinking and sharpness, I name you for ‘stripe’,” she announces, unsheathing _Winter’s Wrath_ and laying it gently on each of our shoulders in turn. “Rise, Sir Fiyr Harte of Thundria. Rise, Sir Graie Sterrip of Thundria. Serve your kingdom with all your strength. Rise.”

We stand and I can’t help quivering a little as the queen slams her sceptre into the ground and white mist shoots from it.

I raise my hand, watching the mist wrap it, and then let it fall back to my side. Examining my finger, I find that my wooden band embedded with red seaglass has transformed into a steel band with a glittering ruby jewel inlaid in it.

I admire it in the torchlight.

_I’m a knight… a real knight of Thundria._ I never would’ve thought it was possible when I was a god-toy, just joining the kingdom as a child, terrified of these people in the woods and all their strange customs.

And now I would die to save those same people.

“Fiyr Harte! Graie Sterrip! Fiyr Harte! Graie Sterrip!” the court calls out, greeting us.

_Fiyr Harte. Has a nice ring to it._

I turn to Graie, grinning. He cracks wide smile and hugs me tightly. “Congratulations, Sir Sterrip,” I tell him teasingly.

“The same to you, Sir _Harte_ ,” he replies pompously, laughing and clapping me on the back. “Now we’re like, old and shit!”

I laugh. “Well… I guess?”

Suddenly everyone and their mother wants to shake our hand, so I squeeze through the crowd, accepting greetings and compliments with a smile and a blush, trying to get to Samn before I’m completely mobbed.

“You’re a strong life-force user,” Sir Wynnd tells me proudly. “Incredible work on the battlefield today.”

“Thank you so much, sir,” I reply quickly, edging past him.

I finally make it to his little chair and realize I don’t even have anything to say. I fiddle with my hands, then turn quickly to Yllowei who stands beside him.

“Congratulations on your position,” I exclaim— _Too loud, you sound like an idiot_ —and flash her a cheesy thumbs-up.

She raises an eyebrow. “Indeed. Congratulations on your new… name.”

“Well, it’s more than that! Like, now the squires have to listen to me!” I joke, turning back to Samn. _Segue of the century._

“Over my dead body,” Samn says brightly. “Literally, if you don’t get a hold of yourself.”

I swallow hard. _Thanks for the reminder._ “Sorry again.”

“I survived, didn’t I?” he replies briskly.

Yllowei looks far too smug.

I narrowly avoid demanding to know what she’s smirking about and instead look down at Samn. “Look… I know you kind of… um, hated me… but if you want to put it in the past, then I’m willing to move on to.”

His eyebrows raise slightly, but he stretches his non-cast hand out. I shake it, praying to the Starlaxi that my hand isn’t gross and sweaty.

“But first,” he says sharply when he tugs his hand away from mine. “There’s the little problem of…”

Sir Cawle looms over my shoulder and I spin, smiling weakly at him. _I didn’t do anything wrong!_ I tell myself. _Stop feeling so guilty!_

“Congratulations on your new rank,” he rumbles, a glint in his eyes that makes me uncomfortable. “You hold new power in the court. I suggest you use it… _wisely_. After all, anyone could get the wrong… impression.”

I can’t be imagining that it sounds like a threat, right? I stare him down and he gives me a nod and a half-smile, then walks off. _What in the Blacklands? What was he trying to say…?_

“Still think I’m on about nothing?” Samn mutters.

I whip back, crossing my arms defensively. “I don’t _know!_ I’m trying to figure out what’s going on!”

“I _told_ you what’s going on,” he replies, but his eyes soften at least a tiny bit.

I purse my lips, frustrated. “Yeah, well, a lot of people are telling me what’s going on, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to try to piece things together myself.”

Samn’s eyes flicker with something indecipherable, but whatever it was, the queen interrupts.  
“Sir Harte, you will stand vigil tonight. The sun has gone down and your silence must be held until it returns,” the queen informs me.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I mumble, ducking my head.

“Sir Sterrip will guard the castle alongside you,” she informs me and sends me over to him.

Glancing back at Samn, I see the frustration on his face.

“Er, Your Majesty, I—” I begin awkwardly, hoping that at least if she knows all the facts, she might be able to discern the truth.

“Whatever it was, it can wait until your vigil ends,” she tells me, hushing me with a hand.

I trail off, sighing. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

I stand shoulder to shoulder with Graie, but my eyes find Samn’s again as Yllowei takes his chair and helps him back toward the healer’s wing. _It can wait a night, but how many nights until it’s too dangerous to ignore?_

Sir Cawle’s betrayal has shaken me, undoubtedly, but glancing at Graie next to me and Samn as he hobbles back to the healer’s den, I feel like I could take on the world. And if he is the one to challenge me, then so be it. I will do whatever it takes to save Thundria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book 2, the adaptation of Fire and Ice, will be published next week! All 25 chapters plus the prologue have been written already and I'm most of the way through Book 3, so don't worry about the series disappearing just yet. Sea and Smoke will alternate between Graie and Fiyr's perspectives. Stay tuned!


End file.
